The Courtship of Colonel Fitzwilliam
by Macurial
Summary: Courtship would always be more difficult for him than his cousin. As the Youngest son of an Earl, he must make his own way in the world.
1. The Night Before Battle

**Hello :)**

**I always found an interesting parallel between Col. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, specifically them both having the burden of needing to marry for money. I had always envisioned what the Col. may do after the events of the book, and decided to see for myself. The same can be said for other characters in the chapters to come. You will see many familiar faces. Elizabeth and Darcy of course, as well as a few others that might surprise you.**

**I hope you enjoy,**

**Macurial**

Chapter 1

Sitting at the strategy table, a glass of wine in his hand, he looked over the plan of attack. A battalion of redcoats on foot were attacking head on, a regiment of officers on horseback were attacking from the west, and group of sharp shooters were positioned from the hills to the south. He drained his glass, and after a small hesitation poured another. It was going to be a long night.

Not every lieutenant made it to Colonel. Even if you were a career military man, there was no promise of promotion. Colonel Fitzwilliam had earned his post at such a young age from a mixture of cunning and charm. He had the wit to build a strategy, the persuasion to promote it, and the strength to execute it to a T. It was no wonder he had been assigned over a thousand men to his command, or that he had been put in for another promotion only six months after his last. The British army was frankly, "lucky to have him." His commander's words. And while the thrill of battle, the glory of victory, and the respect of his soldiers was priceless, it didn't fulfill him.

In the last year alone he had seen his cousin married to a woman he himself had greatly admired. His cousin's best friend also wed, to her sister, and from what he heard children were soon on the way. It made him long for a bond different from that of soldiering brotherhood, which while strong, did not make him fall asleep at night with the warm satisfaction of a husband, or father.

Perhaps the reason he was delaying sleep was because he knew that all that awaited him in his tent was a stiff cot and an itchy blanket. But that was the soldier's life. He quickly drained his second glass. Drink won't make the cot that awaits you any warmer, he told himself. Setting his glass down, he rolled up the map of the battlefield, stuffed it in his pocket, and quickly exited the tent.

His tent was less than fifty yards to east from where he stood, but he found himself turning west, he in eased into a slow stroll around the campsite, as he was known the do the night before a battle. After a few minutes he spotted a corporal sitting fireside outside his own tent, staring down at something in the palm of his left hand. Curious, Fitzwilliam veered over in quiet stride.

"You seem to have a captivating item in your possession sir. Pray tell me, what is it?"

The corporal stood at the sight of him, a quick salute to his cap, his back as straight as a board. "Yes sir Colonel. It's a picture of my betrothed sir, or more a likeness of her sir."

With a gentle wave of his hand, he said "Be at ease soldier, just a curious Colonel out on patrol. May I trouble you to see this capture?"

"Would be my honor sir!" said the corporal, sitting back down and handing Fitzwilliam the tiny painting.

It was indeed intricate for so little a canvas. It must have taken the artist many hours with a tiny brush to paint such a specific likeness. "Does it look much like her Corporal?"

"Indeed it does sir, at every curve." Replied the corporal with complete assurance.

Thinking of the time that it would take to paint such a tiny painting, the money it would cost, and the fact that the brush strokes appeared to be made by a left handed painter, the Colonel made an easy assumption. "I would wager a guess that you painted this yourself Corporal. Recently, in fact."

Surprised, but pleased, the corporal replied, "I did indeed sir, not a fortnight prior. How could you tell?"

Fitzwilliam smiled. "Only a man in love could paint something as exquisite with such detail as this! It seemed but the only choice." he said, handing the small likeness back to its owner.

"And only one who is in such love could recognize it thusly." The corporal replied. "Is the Colonel himself in love with such a woman?"

The Colonel paused, hoping to show no emotion upon his face. He was not in love, not anymore… "No dear sir, I am not. It was merely obvious from the look on your face that you were a man in love."

"Of course sir!" said the man, not doubting it for a second.

"To bed soon corporal. There is a day of fighting ahead and I have a feeling we won't get much sleep tonight, so rest while you can, for tomorrow I intend to be the victor. " The colonel said quickly, rising to leave.

"Absolutely sir!" the man said, already extinguishing the fire. "Good night sir!"

"Good night Corporal."

He spent the next half hour making his round to many a "Good evening sirs!" and the like. Several groups of men inviting him to join them for a drink or meal, he declined politely to each in turn.

His stroll came to an end at his tent just as he knew it would. He took another gander at a letter he had received earlier in the day, checking for the third time to make sure it really said what he knew it did. He took off his clothes and lay down slowly on the creaking cot, extinguishing the candle on the bed side crate. He tried to think of only tomorrow, of battle, of tactics, and not of what it would feel like to be in his own house, in a warm bed, with a woman he desperately loved falling asleep in his arms.

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**More chapters to come, I will determine how many based on interest and will update you with the amount in later chapters.**

**I eat Comments and Favorites 3 squares meals a day, they give me the energy to continue the story... Please good sirs, leave a fav or comment cause or I'll die. ****  
**

**No Pressure, but it'll practically make you a murderer if you don't... so, up to you ;)**


	2. The Medicine

**MY GOODNESS! After both a fun and shameless attempt to get feedback, I was happy to see everyone responding in fun as well. Thank you everybody for your reviews. I have never had so many people guessing as to where a story will go, it was quite a joy to read all of your ideas. And as such, I will give you an idea of where the story is heading. **

**Firstly, as you will quickly see in the second chapter, Anne is going to be a main character in the story. For the first few chapters we will split between her and Fitzwilliam's POV. **

**Though it isn't really noticeable in this chapter, there will be two different time lines to begin with. DON'T FREAK OUT! This will only last for a few chapters, as Anne's time line will begin near the end of P &amp; P while Fitzwilliam's starts some months after. They will both eventually merge, with other characters as well, and the rest of the story will take place at one time, though there will still be chapters from different character POV. **

**I was going to post a much longer chapter a few weeks from now, but since you all have been waiting so patiently, I decided to post a shorter chapter now instead of making you wait. Happy reading, and thanks again**

**-Macurial**

Chapter 2

She opened her eyes to a blackened room. The curtains smothered the windows, choking them of the light they gently offered. She could hear her mother's voice in her mind, high and unyielding. "The light makes you sick my dear… it has always made you sick." It had happened again.

Much like the previous times, she awoke to an ache in her stomach and lightness in her head. She always awoke in her room, which was ever unchanging. What did change from day-to-day was whether she could remember how she got there. Sometimes she could remember coming in and changing her clothes, having her hair brushed, and settling into bed, but many times… she couldn't remember the previous day at all. She would have to ask a servant what she had done, who she'd seen and where she had gone. The servants would always tell her a list of people had stopped by, that she'd spent the day with her mother, and, as always, that she had gone nowhere. Whole days were often lost, and weeks were like a tributary of murky creeks, hazy and disarranged.

She brought her hands to her eyes, softly rubbing them. She had memories from childhood, and though often fuzzy, they were enough to remind her. It hadn't always been like this.

She could remember many days of play outside in the summer months. Rosing's had a garden that was perfect for children hiding and seeking, a day could easily be lost trying to find a friend. She had a vague memory of looking around a hedge to find two curly-haired boys crouched and giggling.

" I can't recall a turn in which I didn't discover you." she heard herself say.

"You only found us because we laughed!" the taller one said, pulling the other to his feet.

"Yes!" she replied. "But then, you always laugh."

_What were the boys' names? _The more strenuously she focused, the fuzzier the memories would become. She sighed, rolling to her side she pulled her pillow close. If her mind went to childhood, to sunlight, and to playing, it eventually lead to…

_Papa. _

She tried to clear her mind, stop the flow of thought. She squeezed her eyes, thinking of nothing but her own breathing. For a few minutes, it worked. But she could never keep the thoughts of him away.

Sir Lewis de Bourgh was widely known as a joyful man. His great wealth allowed him to stay at home most of the year, where he dedicated many of his hours to uninterrupted play with his daughter. He was not what one would call classically handsome. He was fair bit shorter than average height, a bit round in the middle, and had a nose so large it would've belonged better on a canine.

His hair however, was the yellow of autumn leaves starting to turn, and when he leaned down to pick her up she would run her hands all through it, petting it, combing it, lifting it up then letting it fall. It was still the softest thing she had ever touched. He also had a beautifully full smile, which he gave easily to those both close and newly acquainted, and if one was around Rosing's on one of those days spent with his daughter, one could easily assume that it was a permanent feature.

They would play many sorts of games together. When it was too wet to go out, they'd keep by the fire playing chess and cards until Anne couldn't take the sitting around anymore! Then, with just a little persuasion and a few quick glances around the room to see if her mother was near, he'd say in a whisper "Cakes and Castles?"

It was her favorite game.

The first task was to build a castle using only the items that could be found in her room. The bed and mattress would be used to form a foundation and wall, while the sheets formed a bridge and moat. Once the castle was built, he'd announce:

"Queen Anne, the kingdom has run out of cakes! We are done for!"

"All is not lost good sir! I have heard of a faraway land… there, cakes are grown by the hundred. And if we are quite sneaky, we may be able to acquire one."

"I have heard of the place of which you speak. The journey there is fraught with danger! Few have the cunning to steal such delicious cakes without being apprehended."

"But the need is dire sir! We must have cake!"

"Yes we must!"

They would then tiptoe across the entire house, hiding from every servant and whispering conspiratorially the entire way. Once they returned, making sure that the drawbridge was up and castle was secure, they would hurriedly dive in (for they were quite famished by this point) seeing no need for plate or fork.

Sometimes at night when he was putting her to sleep, if he could catch her unawares, he would pick her up, raising her high in the air and say "Anne, you are flying! how is it you are flying?"

When her giggles would finally subsist she'd say "I cannot say, perhaps the winds of got me!"

"Yes indeed!" he'd say, "Quite strong those winds can be. Quite strong." He'd spin her around a few more times before gently "crashing" her down on the bed, and tucking her into it.

One night after doing this she asked, "Papa, do you think there will come a day when people really can fly?"

One thing she truly loved about her father, was that he never laughed at her silly questions. He always took a second to ponder them with good thought before responding, as he did then.

"Yes my dear." He said, after a minute of deliberation. "I truly believe so."

He then kissed her on the cheek, and tucked the covers over her shoulder one last time. Blowing out her candle, he quietly moved towards the door. Before turning the knob, he turned around, and said in the middle of the darkness. "And my sweet Anne… When that day comes, and we can fly… I don't believe we'll ever come down."

A month later he had his first dizzy spell. Two months later, he had a seizure in front of twenty dinner guests. And not a month after that he was bed ridden. It all began soon after. The haze, the forgetting, _the medicine_. A year went by, five, ten, twenty... just that fast, and here she was, laying on the same bed she did that night many years ago when they had spoke of flying.

A servant would be in soon to wake her, as would her mother with the medicine. Soon she'd be fine, the memories would fade away becoming fuzzier and weaker. She just had to wait, a few minutes more and she'd forget all about flying, and cakes, and curly-haired boys with adorable giggles, but mostly she'd forget the thought running through her mind right now. That if her father were here to see her and she was now, frail...sickly... pale... empty. What is it, she wondered, that he might say?

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**A dark chapter I know. Stick with it, things will start moving soon. **

**Again, thanks for reading! Pull up your boots and buckle up your helmet, because in the next chapter Colonel Fitzwilliam is going into battle. ****  
**


	3. The Battle Part 1

**Its been too long I know, so lets just get to it shall we?**

It was time.

He had always possessed the inner clock of a rooster, an instinctive knowledge of the time of day. Outside his bedroom at home, there has been a grandfather clock since before he could remember. He would wager a pound with himself that at this moment it read precisely six o'clock.

Captain Harris always came to awake him at the allotted time. Not once had ever actually had to wake him. Many times Fitzwilliam would already be up and dressed by the time of his arrival, sitting at the table in his tent, beginning to eat his breakfast. And though the Captain had been with him many years, and had grown accustomed to Fitz's punctuality, he came every morning at six none the less. It was part of his routine, and the Army was nothing if not routine.

Rising from his cot, he threw off his rag of a blanket, his body instantly tensing to the cold. It was coming to the end of fall and the temperatures were starting to grow increasingly arctic. Shaking, he walked towards a water basin on a nearby table. He took a second to prepare himself, and after a few quick breaths, dipped his face into the water.

Some people swore by foods, some by drinks, he even had a friend who once swore by dance, but in Fitz's opinion, there was no quicker way to wake in the morning then by immersing yourself in ice cold water.

His body resisted the cold, screaming at him to pull away. After forcing himself to count to ten, he raised his head out the basin and shook the water out of his hair. He reached down the table in search of a cloth to dry himself with, finding nothing but table surface until he felt the gentle thump of cloth hitting him in the back of his head.

"I had planned on letting you search until your face had frozen over." He heard Captain Harris say. "But if it had frozen in such unacceptably wizened fashion, I don't think the men could bare the visage."

Smiling to himself, Fitz grabbed the cloth off his neck, wiping off the water, and the grin. Captain Johnathan Harris and he had been together since his second deployment in Russia. Several inches shorter, and much stockier, Captain Harris was the bulldog to his Collie. With reddish blond hair and piercing navy blue eyes, he was the picture of what a soldier should be: Hard, methodical, and unyielding.

Both men had become officers at about the same time. They each had been given fifty men under their command, and during the first few months of battle, both had seen more blood than that of a retiring surgeon. After many months hold up in caves and buried in holes, a mutual respect had formed. Each recognized in one another a true commitment to King a country that went beyond the Army. For most, the army was a paycheck, or a way to advance themselves in the world. To Fitz and Harris, it was a life philosophy. Though Harris came from a family far less renown than Fitz's, of course few were, this never bothered either man. And even as Fitz was promoted again and again, the gap between their rank in the army, and even their rank in life never bothered the men. The neither of them ranked men based on heritage, or the patches on their shoulders, but solely on their commitment to themselves and the Army.

"Has the enemy been spotted?" Fitz asked.

"No, but that doesn't mean they aren't coming."

"What about the fog?" he asked.

"It has begun to disperse, soon we will see all."

"I don't suppose the sun rose at an accelerated rate this morning." Fitz said casually.

Harris snorted. "No sir. If it had we would have to assume that God was supporting the French."

Fitz didn't reply. He was a man that had been in too many battles and seen too much bloodshed. He knew the truth. War was man's creation. God wasn't here, and if he came at all, it was only collect the dead.

"How long until we have to leave?" He knew the answer, but asked anyway.

"Fifteen minutes."

"We'll depart in five; I want to arrive before they do. Remember to bring the torch, and your letter." Captain Harris nodded, and they both set off to prepare.

As Fitz finished pulling on his pants and tucking in his shirt, he reached for the jacket that he had hung the night before on his bedside chair. He put it on, smoothing out the wrinkles, and patting down the pockets. He felt the map with the outlined battle plan gently tucked in to his left breast pocket. He hesitated, before reaching in and pulling it out. Looking down at his hand, he studied it. It was just an ordinary map, same as the one from the night before. Last night he had put it in his pocket rolled up tightly as to not ruin the lines, just as he had always done, not a single crease in it. Except now the map was folded, several harsh lines cut down the very center of it.

* * *

A few minutes later, they immerged from their tents.

It was still dark out. The sun wouldn't be rising for a while, but it didn't matter to the Colonel. The days in his camp always started early. Every man had a schedule of checks to do over his equipment, as well as chores to carry out for the camp. Many other Colonels he knew preferred to let their men sleep in a bit later, saying that a well-rested soldier well prepared soldier. In truth, the reason most soldiers had to sleep in a little later was because they were nursing hangovers from an evening of drinking and playing cards. Fitz's plan was simple: No more drinking. Earlier rising.

He had been a lower ranked officer when he first started this, and it had foreseen backlash. However, after one such early morning, he, his men, and the rest of the camp had been ambushed by an enemy battalion. His men were the only ones prepared. The rest of the camp suffered terrible losses, but of the forty men under his command, only one was lost. After that, his men woke early every morning on their own.

This morning however, as Fitz surveyed his camp, he saw few men walking around.

He saw Harris looking over at him in surprise, gauging his reaction. Instinctively, Fitz frowned. "This is not a sight I am used to seeing." He said.

"Yes. When I was walking over this morning it was like I had been transported a decade prior. I wonder if it has to do with the new recruits we got yesterday." Captain Harris replied, looking back at Fitz. "We mustn't tarry."

"First things first. Give me your letter, and I'll give you mine." They solemnly exchanged letters, each not looking directly at them, as if just the envelopes themselves may reveal something private.

The exchanging of letters was not something mandated by the Army, in fact, Fitz had never heard of anyone else who did it. It was something Harris and he had started a few years back.

After one particularly long deployment, Harris, Fitz and the rest of their Battalion had finally returned to England. At a small port town on the southern coast, the name of which Fitz could not recall, most of the men went wild. They went out drink, gamble, and Fitz was sure, much worse. The only two that stayed behind were Captain Harris and himself. Harris, while still a young man, had been married since the day he was legal able. He and his wife had two daughters. Though he never mentioned any of them by name, he was a very private man, even with Fitz, they were the loves of his life and he had no interest in going out drinking and socializing amongst other people. He reminded Fitz of a cousin of his in that way. As far as Captain Harris was concerned, the only people with knowing in the world were his girls, and to a lesser degree, Fitz. At least that's what Fitz liked believe.

And while the men went out, Fitz and Harris stayed aboard the ship, relaxing on the deck with a glass of wine each.

"I didn't think I would see home again. Not this time." Harris said, surprising Fitz with his openness.

"Nor I." Fitz agreed.

"Death does not scare me Colonel, but not being able to see my girls one last time… the thought is… unbearable to me."

"Yes." Fitz said, nodding. "I feel the same way. Not that I have a wife at home, but there are certain… people, I would wish to say one last goodbye to."

"Our wills are not strong on sentiment, are they?" Harris said, referring to the legal wills every soldier was to write out before each deployment, in case they were never to return.

Fitz mulled this over in his head, rotating the glass of wine in his hand and taking a drink. "I propose a plan." He said.

And that was when the idea of exchanging letters had come about. Each man, the night before a battle, would write a letter, or several, to the people he wished.

He didn't know about Captain Harris, but what Fitz wished to say always seemed to change from letter to letter. It was partially why he wanted them to write new letters before each battle, because what he felt was a little different every time he sat down to write. And he wanted those that he was writing to know what was in his heart on that day, if it so happened to be his final one.

* * *

Putting Harris' letter in his breast pocket, he noticed how thick it was. It seemed that as time went on, his letters became longer and longer. It felt invasive even thinking about why that might be. Fitz pushed the idea out of his mind.

"Hand me the torch." He said, surprising Harris, who always carried the torch as was army custom. Whoever was the highest ranking officer must not carry the torch, as to not make a clear target to enemy marksman.

Then, surprising Captain Harris again, Fitz started walking westward towards the edge of camp.

"Do you wish to raise the men?" Harris said, already looking for someone to give the order to.

"No."

Harris raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but said nothing.

Their encampment was in the middle of a valley, a good place to defend. The enemy would have to fight uphill and get over the ridge to attack. However, if they ever got over the ridge, they would have his army surrounded, and would then themselves be uphill, holding the advantage. The last update he had received of the enemy position, they were about a day's walk away from the valley.

As they came to the end of camp they entered an empty meadow. The long grasses passed lightly against their pants as the marched towards their destination, neither man saying a word.

Fitz couldn't take his mind off the map in his pocket. It had obviously been removed in the middle of the night, but yet, the intruder who had stolen it hadn't the mind to harm him in the slightest. This didn't necessarily mean that it was one of his men, too ashamed of their treachery to finish the job. It could have been the enemy.

It was possible they didn't want to alert him to their knowledge of his strategy, hoping he would execute the battle plan exactly as it was, making their own adjustments to lead his army into a trap of some sort. And lastly, and he acknowledged most regrettably, it might be a combination of the two: A soldier from his army having given the battle plans to the enemy, who would in their own turn lead him to entrapment. And what of the folded map? It was a poor spy indeed who would steal a map from his pocket, and put it back in such a way that would surely draw alarm.

These thoughts raged through his head as he approached the formerly determined meeting place. A lone tree stood out in the middle of the meadow, the only one for miles, and when they had agreed to this spot as the place of discourse, there wasn't any need to clarify where they meant. Captain Harris looked around expectantly, as if the French were going to pop out of a hole in the ground and yell "Surprise!"

Fitz looked around himself, and seeing no one about, he quietly said to Captain Harris. "Remove your coat please, Captain Harris."

"What?!"

"I know that your hearing hasn't failed you Captain, you are always the first to hear an enemy's cavalry in the distance."

Captain Harris opened his mouth to reply, then, not wanting to be insubordinate, started unbuttoning his jacket. All the while never taking his eyes off Fitz.

Fitz himself started to unbutton his own jacket, watching Captain Harris' obvious confusion with a little more enjoyment than he should. Once each man had finished, Fitz extended his hand out toward Captain Harris without a word. Harris silently handed over his jacket, then, at Fitz's direction, took the Colonels own.

After snapping the buttons on the jacket in place, Fitz looked down at the jacket to see how it fit. While a bit shorter and wider than it should be, it didn't draw attention as a completely bad fit. It would do. Having taken out Harris' letter from his own jacket, he tucked it into Harris' breast pocket, and then looked over the rest of the uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles he saw.

Smiling at Harris in an absurdly teasing way, Fitz leaned up against the tree, removing a pipe from his pants. He began stuff it with tobacco, leaning towards the torchlight for guidance. Of course, Harris must have a dozen questions he wanted answered, but he was disciplined enough not to speak out of turn.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you smoke." Captain Harris said matter of factually.

Fitz smiled. " Yes, I am quite new to it." _This is the first time, in fact. _

The Captain frowned.

_It could be him… _Fitz thought, not taking his eyes off the sword in front of him. _He could have entered my tent at night; no one would have even questioned it. _Of course, he knew how Fitz rolled his battle plans, and if he had paid any attention at all, he would know that he always put his maps in his right pocket.

"I don't like us just waiting here." Captain Harris said, an anxiousness Fitz had never heard from him before rang clearly in his voice

"I know." Fitz said. He placed the pipe between his lips, and then, using a twig from the tree and the fire from the torch, he lights the end of it, puffing deeply on the tip.

Captain Harris looked at him, measuring the colonel's mood. "What is it you know?"

There was a rustling of grass in the distance, and both men quickly turned to see two figures approaching. The torchlight was just bright enough to make out their figures. They had decided to ride horses, not surprising being the distance they would have needed to travel.

As the two men got closer, Fitz got a better look at them. One, a Lieutenant commander by the look of his uniform, remained on his horse, overlooking the hills to the east where the sun would soon rise with a euphoric expression upon his face. He had small eyes, tight lips, and a nose that looked much too sharp.

The other man, tall and heavy, dismounted from his horse immediately. He walked with a stomping sort of gait, killing all kinds of insects beneath his boot on his way towards the two men. He kept his chin high and his hands clasped behind his hands, making him both obnoxiously loud, but somehow at ease. He gave a curt nod to the two men, and in near perfect English said, "You wish to discuss terms?"

He addressed Captain Harris. Fitz, who kept the torch high but his head lowered like a servant in a dining hall, gave the man a subconscious push into believing Harris was in command. Harris looked at him incredulously, and after a few seconds realized that Fitz was not going to correct the man and that he had made them switch uniforms for this exact reason.

Harris quickly straightened his posture, hardened his face, and said to the Commander in front of him, "Yes, we wish to discuss terms."

"Proceed." The man said.

Still a bit shocked, and trying hard not to look at Fitz, Harris stuttered a little as he began. "A-all of your troops will be surrendered. All of the officers will be ransomed or exchanged for officers of our own; the lower ranked soldiers shall be stripped of weapons and uniforms. All large artillery weapons will be handed over, as well as horses and wagons. The officers taken capture shall be treated well, and the rest shall be allowed to return home."

The French Commander frowned at Harris. After a second of confusion, a mock of a smile formed on his face, and he shook his head. "Pardon me sir, but who do you think is in position to command surrender?" He waved his hand towards the commander still on the horse, who in turn looked over his shoulder and let out a low whistle.

The sun had snuck up behind the hills to the east, and the first rays of morning had begun to shine down upon them. In the distance, Fitz could see a large shadow rise out of the fog. It was still too far away to make out, but he could hear all the familiar sounds: The marching of boots, the trotting of hooves, and the jostling of weapons. It was the sound of an army approaching.

The smile on the French commander's face broadened. His army must've marched all through the night to get here so quickly.

"I believe the surrender we should be discussing Colonel, is yours." The man said. His army had now come completely out of the mist, just as the sun rose completely out from behind the hill.

Captain Harris didn't bat an eyelash, replying "And why would we surrender to you? Your numbers are not so superior that you should expect absolute victory."

Just as he was finished speaking, an officer of lower rank walked up the French Colonels side, whispered something briefly in his ear, and walked away with a bow.

The smile still on his face, the Frenchman took another step towards Captain Harris and said, "You should surrender, because as my scout has just told me, there is hardly a soldier in your camp awake."

Captain Harris' mouth went agape, and before he could correct himself with a proper reply, the Colonel continued.

"We are unexpected. You are unprepared, as well as outnumbered. We could enter your camp in less than half an hour, and then…" he trailed off darkly, feeling no need to elaborate on what would ensue.

Captain Harris exhaled, pretending to look off in the distance, when in reality he was looking at Fitz.

Fitz shook his head slightly, in a way that clearly said there would be no surrender on their end.

Captain Harris returned his gaze to their enemy and said simply, "We will not surrender."

The French Colonel looked genuinely saddened by this, shaking his head at the stubbornness. Fitz felt sympathy for the man. He had been in this position before himself, fighting an enemy that could not win, but would not surrender. There was no glory in it. No heavenly reason for the killing. As he had thought before, he thought again. God was not here.

"In every war there is a great massacre." The French Colonel said, talking to the ground in low voice so that Fitz could just barely hear him. "The man in command of the victorious end is always cursed for his evil… for not showing mercy. I do not wish to be this man." He looked up at Captain Harris, an angry look upon his face. "But if you will not surrender… I will." He said, taking one last step towards Harris, and saying between clenched teeth, "Damn you to hell. If you make me massacre your men I will."

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** This is a Two Part chapter, Part 2 will be up soon. There was just too much to cover! I promise the next few chapters will be up faster then this one was. Too much RL got in the way, but I'm happy to be back at it.**


	4. The Battle Part 2

**I would like to sincerely thank all of you who have reviewed and favorited. **

**My mom has actually been laid up for the last few months and I wrote this ,at least in part, for her. **

**Pride and Prejudice was always something she watched ( The BBC version) when ever she was feeling ill, and I had this idea for a story featuring Colonel Fitzwilliam for sometime, so it just seemed meant to be that i write it while she was recovering at home. **

**This story has been dedicated to her :) **

**DISCLAIMER: There is mention in chapter 1 of a letter than Fitz receives the night before battle, this will come up again in this chapter. It is mentioned briefly at the end of chapter 1 and will come up again in this chapter, if you are wondering where the reference is coming from. There will be a lot of subtle hints mentioned thought out chapters in this story and I will try and give you hints before each chapter at where they can be found so you know. **

**Thank you all again. Ready? Lets go!**

**CHAPTER 3 PART 2**

The sun rays coming over the eastern hill had already started to illuminate the valley. Small dew droplets still hung on the grass, and even with the heavy fog, it was the start of a beautiful morning.

It may have been quite enjoyable if Colonel Fitzwilliam didn't have a foul smelling Sergeant pushing the barrel of his gun into the middle of his back like a fire iron into a log. He wasn't exactly sure what it was the man smelled of… it was like rotten fruit over an open fire.

They had taken his weapons, but the French Colonel had been gentlemanly enough to allow him to keep his newly acquired pipe, muttering something about "one last smoke." _And thank God for that_ Fitz thought, not wanting to consider how difficult it would have made things if they had taken it.

He puffed on it as they marched forward, little clouds of smoke floating slowly downward before mixing in with the fog and disappearing altogether. He smiled to himself, since no one else, save Captain Harris, would see. _The smoke mixes with the fog perfectly… _

Captain Harris was glaring at him, incredulous to his smile. Fitz had made him pretend to be in command, without any warning or explanation. Having him pretend to be in charge did not bother Captain Harris; to protect Fitz he would have gladly accepted the idea, maybe even thought of it himself. He did not, however, like Fitz keeping him in the dark, something Fitz had never done before.

_But it is necessary. _

They were approaching a very large cairn, which happened to be the only geological landmark in the area, making it stand out. Just ahead of the rock pile, Fitz could make out the tops of his army's tents, and thin billows of smoke that were undoubtedly coming off their camp fires. The French army had now arrived in striking distance.

The cairn did a perfect job of hiding the French Army, who had narrowed down their marching lines as to be more adequately hidden.

With a short whistle the French Colonel pointed towards the hill of rocks, and a second later a French scout went scurrying it. He returned in a matter of minutes, giving the Colonel a wave to signal that the coast was clear.

The French Colonel turned towards the two red coats, and with a tired look, said to Captain Harris "This is your last chance Colonel. You have no scouts to warn your camp of our attack, which would be swift. I ask you one final time, surrender."

Captain Harris opened his mouth to respond, but never got the opportunity as Colonel Fitzwilliam was placing a hand on his shoulder, and saying clearly so all could hear. "That will do Captain Harris, I am ready to speak."

Looking relieved, Captain Harris took a step back, giving Colonel Fitzwilliam a quick solute, and allowing him to take his place in front of the French commander. The French Colonel looked a little startled, but being a man accustomed to the constant ebbs and flows of battled, quickly regained his composure.

"I fear you have miscalculated Colonel. " Fitz said matter of factually, raising his pipe to his mouth and taking a small puff.

"How is that, _sir_?" The younger Lieutenant Commander replied, his beady eyes looking down his sharp nose straight at Fitz.

The French Colonel made to move to admonish his subordinate, and seemed interested himself in Fitz's answer.

"You see, we are not quite as ill prepared as it might seem." He said with an honest nod. "In fact, we are quite the opposite."

Captain Harris was staring at Fitz in disbelief, but quickly checks himself, acting as if he had known this all along. The French Colonel's face showed no emotion.

"And it what way you have prepared?" he said.

Fitz gestured towards a young French soldier standing behind him, who had been carrying the torch that he and Harris had brought with them to the meeting. Fitz extended out his hand to the young man, and said courteously "If you'll allow me."

The young man looked to his commander, who gave him a quick nod, and handed over the torch.

Fitz looked to the Eastern hillside, where the sun was minutes away from peeking over, and in one easy motion, waved the torch back and forth, twice.

Within seconds, he could see a line of red coats rising to attention on the top of the hill, their guns pointed and steady. At the far right end of the hill was another man with a torch, looking tiny at the distance. He in turn raised a torch, waving it twice.

Now, rising up in closer proximity, a line of red coats rose to attention on the top of the cairn. Fitz smiled. They would have had to have hidden well to avoid the French scout's detection.

They settled behind the boulders that made up the pile. Using the rocks as a shield, they aimed down the barrel of their guns and waited. Behind one of the rocks, so that Fitz couldn't even make out the rest of the man's body, was an arm holding a torch. It waived it twice. And as soon as it did, Fitz turned around towards the west, the army of French soldiers copying his movement. There they saw a Cavalry of British riders, who had stealthily approached during the display. They stopped at a safe distance, awaiting their Colonel's instructions.

They had timed their appearance perfectly. The looks on the French Soldiers faces were akin to that of a cat cornered in an ally way by a pack of homeless dogs. Their commander however, did not seem impressed. In fact, he seemed almost... disappointed.

"A brilliantly executed display." He said, sounding almost bored. "Terrifying actually, in all honestly, except your display also parades about your inadequacies, to one who knows what they are looking for."

Fitz cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive school boy. "Please", he said, taking a casual puff on the pipe "explain."

"Where to start? Your men on the ridge are lined up horizontally in a way that makes them look more imposing than they actually are, you have them standing in such a location on the ridge that we cannot know how many men may actually stand behind them, my suspicion is none, and they have picked a spot on the hill that is too far away for them to have any accuracy with their shots." He pointed to the cavalry that still stood in waiting many yards away to the west.

"Your cavalry may have been put to good use if we were out in the middle of the plain a few furlongs back, but here, by the rocks, they would be useless. I would no doubt sustain a few loses in battling up the rocks against your well hid men, but as I suspect their numbers are as few as the ones of the men on the hill, this would be a small consolation. By the time your cavalry arrived, we will have easily captured the rock, and using it as our own protection, would easily pick off the Cavaliers who had approached, who would have to dismount their steeds as they climbed the rock after us, taking away every and any advantage they could have held. Leaving us as the easy victors. "

"You are still taking a large risk that I do not have more men behind the ones on the hill, and the rock, that you can see."

"True, but I do not believe that you do. Your tactics are that of a man who is heavily outnumbered, and knows it."

The French Colonel was clearly brilliant, and there would be no use in trying to convince the man of his deductions otherwise. His instincts were correct, and as Colonel Fitz knew himself, a good commander trusts his instincts.

"A fair analysis sir." Fitz said, nodding with appreciation. "But your assumptions are all based on one glaring misconception."

"And what is that Colonel?"

"That my men cannot shoot you from where they are."

Three heartbeats of silence passed. The French Colonel was analyzing Fitz's face with rapt intensity, and the lieutenant commander looking at him like a coach roach he had found in his bed.

"Impossible." The French Colonel mumbled, at the same time his lieutenant said "Menteur!"

The French Colonel looked back at Redcoats on the hill side, calculating the distance in his head. He frowned at Fitzwilliam like a child telling tall tales. "Perhaps you think that my vision has declined with my age Colonel, but I can still see that your men are hundreds of rods too far away, while your cannons are almost two times too far away."

"We have spent the last several months testing new fire arms, which have not only greater range, but greater accuracy." Fitz said.

"There is no cannon in the world with the range you claim." The Lieutenant Commander said, his voice rising.

"I had not expected you to take this at my word, sir. Would a demonstration be agreeable?"

"What do you suggest?!" The French Colonel said quietly.

"I suggest a simple show of marksmanship. I will plant a flag several yards away and direct my soldiers to fire the cannon upon it."

Stepping towards him, the French Colonels eyes flickered to his soldiers on the hill, and then back to him. "How great is your confidence in your weapons?"

"As great as my confidence in my men."

He came up right besides Fitz, and leaning in with a whisper said "I will make no idle threats towards you Colonel, let us just say, it had better be."

And Fitz new from the look in the man's eyes, that he was right. It was no _idle_ threat.

"May I have something mark the spot?"

"Of course." The Lieutenant Commander injected with a sly smile. Motioning to one of his men, the white flag of truce which the French had carried with them to the meeting was brought forward.

Handing it to Fitz himself, the Lieutenant Commander said, "This should do, as it will no longer be needed." A menacing glint flashing in his eyes.

Fitz took it without a word, spinning around and marching away. He could not allow the man to see any fear in his eyes.

He took out his pipe, and started puffing on it deeply. The embers of the tobacco were still burning in full, but he took the pipe out of his mouth and slapped them loose. Resting the staff in-between his arm and his shoulder, he took out a fresh pinch of tobacco and quickly loaded the pipe, all the while, he searched the ground for the spot to plant the flag.

This part was paramount; he needed to find the designated place in which to stick the flag. He slowed his walk, moving his legs in an exaggerated way to make it look like he was still at a march. He was beginning to feel panic rising up in his chest and scanned the ground all around him as stealthily as he could. He could not be obvious of his intentions, nor could he take much longer without attracting suspicion. _Where was the spot?_

Finally, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A small, vaguely perceivable **X** had been marked on the ground by the tip of a sword.

As nonchalantly as he could, he walked towards the mark on the ground, looking at the area all around it to give the effect that he was considering it at random. Then, with a small shrug, he stabbed the flag into the ground and looked up at his men on the hill.

Not waiting a moment, he started walking back towards the French Army. He casually leaned down in mid step, struck a match off a protruding rock, and lit his pipe anew.

He was barely twenty rods away from the rooted flag, when the Lieutenant Commander called out "That's far enough good Colonel!" And behind the Lieutenant, a hundred French soldiers raised their riffles.

Stunned, Fitz stopped in place. Taking a second to find his voice, and make sure it was even, he called back. "You plan to shoot me before my demonstration begins Commander?"

"Not at all sir" The man said, the sly look still displayed on his face. "But if your cannons are as accurate as you seem to believe, there is no need for you to retreat from the marked spot any farther, in fact, you should be well out of range."

Seeing he had no other choice, Fitz looked back at the planted flag and took a deep breath. He had planned on the time it would take to walk back to the French, if he signaled his men now, the timing would be off, and the plan would be shot to hell. He had to stall a few more seconds.

"Would you allow me a few words to my second in command?" He said, addressing the Colonel instead of the Commander.

"Very well. But be brief."

He had no intention of being otherwise.

"Captain Harris." He said, looking towards his friend, who was straining against several French soldiers in an attempt to get loose. "Please remove the letter with the name Marie on it from the others. Looking at it now, I would rather that letter never reach her."

Captain Harris looked in pain, like he wanted to say something to Fitz but could not find the words. In the end, he just nodded solemnly

"Now Colonel." Fitz said, keeping his back to flag where a cannon was aimed. "If you would do me the service of signaling my men…"

Without out another word, a French soldier stepped forward, held up the torch, and waved it twice.

After a few seconds, Fitz could hear the loud echo of cannon fire reverberating off the hill side. For what seemed like the longest second of his life… there was silence. And in that second, he thought only of that letter he had asked Captain Harris not to deliver.

And then, he felt the force of a thousand horses stampeding into him. He saw the ground raging by him in a blur like a river. Then all went black, and all was silent.

* * *

He had been dozing off, seconds away from the sleep he had been putting off for the last two days. His thoughts were drifting to Teresa, as they almost always did during the rare moments of peace he found during the day. The past two days, he had found none of these moments. His mind had been at a constant run since the "Forfeit to Fitz" as the men were now calling Colonel Fitzwilliam's brilliant deception upon the French Army two days before.

Corporal William Holmes had a small part to play in it himself, and hadn't even known of it until the middle of the night just hours before the plan came to fruition. He had been asleep in his tent, and had actually gone to sleep early, as suggested by Colonel Fitzwilliam himself the night before. When he had suddenly be awoken from his sleep.

Gasping loudly, and reacting by instinct, he grabbed for his knife. Pulling it from its sheath he found himself lowering it almost immediately as he recognized the man leaning over him in amusement. It was the man he had shown the small painting of his Teresa, the man who had ordered him to sleep just hours before: Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Colonel!" he exclaimed, still feeling delirious and a little light headed. "What are you-"he coughed, remembering his manners and his place. "How may I help you sir?"

"I'm glad you asked Corporal." Colonel Fitzwilliam said, leaning down and helping the man to his feet. "I so happen to be in need of a man I can trust. Are you that man Corporal…?"

"Holmes sir."

"Well Corporal Holmes, I seem to have a problem." Fitz said, looking around the tent and finding a spare chair to sit on. "And I believe that you can help me remedy it."

"I'll do all I can sir. And to answer your question, yes. You can trust me."

"Yes Corporal. "Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. I believe I can."

Colonel Fitzwilliam went on to explain to him that he had received a letter from someone he greatly trusted just this morning, he did mention who that person was, and Corporal Holmes did not inquire. The writer of the letter, by some means that were also not shared with Corporal Holmes, had somehow discovered that Fitzwilliam had a spy amongst his men. One who would likely inform the French of his battle plan.

Interrupting the Colonel with an apology, the Corporal said. "But sir! I thought it was your policy never to share your complete battle strategy with any officer, just in case of such a spy should come about."

The Colonel did not seem annoyed, but appreciative, nodding encouragingly to the Corporal.

"Indeed Corprol it is."

"So what use would the spy be to the French?" The corporal wondered aloud.

"Even if the spy wasn't able to find out my strategy, he would know other, even more useful information. He would know the location of our camp, and he would know the number of men we have. Which, from what I hear, is far less than the number of men that the French employ."

The corporal was beginning to feel like this was all too far over his head. "So what is it we do sir?"

"We let them steal a strategy that isn't going to be used, and let them believe that we aren't prepared for their arrival. I put our plan of attack in my right coat pocket every time I leave the strategy tent. Any of my officers would know that, all that one would need to do, if he hasn't already, is to sneak into my tent late at night and copy it."

"But what if they tried to kill you sir?!"

The Colonel smiled at the man's concern. "Be at peace corporal. If they killed me than the whole camp would know that something was amiss. No. They want the entire camp caught off guard, trapped."

The corporal stood up, now feeling completely awake. "But we won't be caught off guard sir."

"No Corporal. We won't."

* * *

Hours later, Corporal Holmes was crouched down behind a Cannon on top of a hill to the east of camp. Looking through a small scope, he could see Colonel Fitzwilliam entering the valley with thousands of French soldiers trailing right behind him.

Corporal Holmes grew nervous as they approached the Cairn were Colonel Fitzwilliam had predicted they'd stop, and just as he promised, they did. In perfect view from the redcoats that were sitting all along the hillside.

Just east of where the Colonel was standing, was the spot where he had directed the newly arrived soldiers to dig a dozen different holes. At the Bottom of each hole they had anchored a cannon ball to an anvil using several a thin but sturdy black chains. They would bury the cannon ball almost completely, leaving enough space at the top for a small keg of gun powder to be placed.

The powder was the color of dirt and burned almost completely smokeless. A small powdered line snaked away from each hole where each of the keg was buried. All one needed to do was find a way to light the line, which would hit the keg in approximately one minute. After that a small explosion would go off, and when the debris had cleared and you came to investigate, you would see a large hole in the ground, with a cannon ball sitting right in the middle.

The problem was the timing.

They had measured each of the powdered lines to the exact length, and had even made ten replica lines that led to no keg so Colonel Fitzwilliam could count them off exactly. When he felt satisfied, he had ordered all the men to go to their positions. And await the French's arrival.

He had some men hiding atop the Cairn, while some men went with Corporal Holmes to the top of the hill, others were on horseback, and even a few he sent back to camp to start a few campfires and give the impression of still waking, and unaware camp. The Colonel himself went back down to his tent, it was still several hours from sunrise, and there was a traitor still awaiting his opportunity.

* * *

The plan had seemed to be going perfectly. The French had stopped right where the Colonel said they would, their scout never spotted the men on the other side of the rock pile hiding, and they had even given him a flag in use as a target.

The cannon had been loaded with a ball that was the mixture of clay and dirt, it would explode shortly after being fired, giving the soldiers below the impression that a real cannon ball had been shot.

He saw Colonel Fitzwilliam put on a show of finding a random spot to plant the flag, which was really just over one of their pre dug cannon ball holes. And had seen him casually, light the line of gun powder upon the ground under the pretense of lighting his pipe, which was actually Corporal Holmes' pipe.

It had all gone according to plan, until the very end.

He stopped. Why had he stopped?!

He had only walked a dozen paces away from the hole where the keg was about to go off, and had stopped!

"What is he doing?" A pale face private standing beside him said.

"I don't know."

He seemed to be saying something to the French Commanders, and then all of a sudden, he got the signal.

He knew that the Colonel had timed it to second. He did not hesitate. He lit the cannon, and a moment later a loud BOOM echoed through the valley, a second after that the keg just a few paces from Colonel Fitzwilliam exploded.

The Corporal and his men were already racing down the hillside.

* * *

**There will be some important things going on with Anne in the next chapter...**

**Thank you again for reading,**

**Macurial **


	5. This Mornings Dose

**You wouldn't know it, but I've actually been writing the next several chapters of this story for months and months, but wanted to finish the story arch of those chapters completely before editing them and posting them. I wanted to make sure it flowed correctly. I think when i checked the other day i had something like 40+ pages of story so there is much much more to come, I'll post as soon as they're fully edited. **

**Thanks again for everybody who has been reviewing, especially you multiple time reviewers ( Belle453 and LucilleRicardo and anybody else I may have missed) **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4**

Still lost in the thoughts of her father, Anne did not hear the maid enter the room. The maid's presence surprised her, as did the contents of her hand. Her brain seems to lose all thought.

_This could not be. Lady Catherine would never trust anyone else…_

"Lady Anne." The maid said. Anne thought she heard quivering in the maid's voice, but disappeared as soon as it arrived. "I have brought you your morning medicine." She said with complete clarity.

Anne gave the girl, for she couldn't have been older than eighteen, an incredulous stare. She then in turn looked at the glass held before her, making no move to accept it.

" Where is Lady Catherine this morning?"

_What a strange way seems to speak of her mother _Lilith thought. _She says her name without any sense of familiarity, as if Lady Catherine was a concept, not a person. _

"She had to leave most urgently this morning miss, had some pressing business, though I know not what. She instructed Mr. Thompson to make sure that you were given your medicine." She said, holding out a tall crystalline glass.

Anne studied the girl.

She had short, slight stature, but seemed to make up for this with a straight posture, a high head, and clear, absorbent eyes. The darkness of the room and her maid's bonnet made her hair color hard to make out, though her sharp brows seemed to indicate a darker color than blonde. Her nose came to an angular point, and with her lips possessing an attractive curve there would be few clear sighted people who wouldn't consider her handsome.

Being such a large household, there had always been much overturn in servants, many getting fired by her Lady Catherine, many more leaving on their own accord. If you mixed the overturn of the staff with the hazy effects of the medicine, it made it impossible for Anne to remember if she had seen this maid before.

Finally, Anne sat up and slowly reached for the glass. She leaned back against the headboard, holding the drink to her chest, looking down at the liquid that was most assuredly killing her.

The maid stood still for a few moments, and when she realized that Anne was making no immediate move to drink the medicine, she walked over to a chair in the nearest corner of the room and took a seat, politely looking away.

A minute of unmitigated silence passed.

Then another.

And when the maid was finally convinced that she would remain her all day, Lady Anne finally spoke

"What is your name?"

"Lilith, Lady Anne. Lilith Alowne."

Anne nodded, swilling the medicine around in the glass. "Have long have you been a maid at Rosing's Ms. Alowne?"

Lilith was surprised to be hearing such questions from Lady Anne. She had only been in the presence of the lady a few instances in her short time at Rosing's, but if they and the talk she heard from the other maids were any indication, Lady Anne spent most of her days in a silent stupor.

There was much truth to this, for these few minutes in the mornings were by far Anne's sharpest, with the medication from the night before mostly worn off, and the new dosage yet taken, she was far and away at her most cognizant.

"This is my first week miss." Said Lilith, her left thumb stroking her right, and then, without knowing exactly why, continued on. "I grew up not far from here, a short hike really. Always wanted to play in Rosing's garden as a girl, all the children from my village did really. It always seemed like such a…"

Lilith noticed that Lady Anne had a somewhat surprised look on her face. She supposed that the servants didn't usually prattle on as much as she found herself doing. She needn't forget why she was here, and what needed to be done.

"Beg your pardon miss, I didn't mean to blather on so. When your lady is done taking her medicine, I shall get back to my duties"

Anne gave that a weak wave. She seemed interested in what the girl had to say. "No, please… continue."

Lilith exhaled. She felt foolish for carrying on so, but saw no choice but to continue on. "It always seemed like such a utopia. I had it in my head that this place was paradise, and if I could just get the here… I don't know."

"Yes?"

Feeling even more foolish, Lilith decided just to speak her mind for she saw no alternative. "I don't know, I guess I never thought about what would happen afterwards. That's what it's like with paradises I suppose. The important part is to get there, not so much what happens when you do."

Looking back at Lady Anne, Lilith realized that she was no longer held her gaze. She seemed to be staring out the window on the far side of the room, making Lilith felt sure that she had said too much now. The great grandfather clock in the room gave an audible indication of the seconds ticking by. Finally, Lilith said "But I'm sure that is all silly."

"Not at all." Anne replied. "I think at one time this place truly was paradise."

And for reasons that she could not comprehend when she thought about it later on, Lilith heard herself reply. "And now?"

"And now hell has overpowered it, leaving the appearance of paradise to all but the most damned."

A few seconds passed before Lilith realized that her mouth was as agape as a trout's. She was shocked to hear such a fine lady use such language. She may have been ostracized in almost any circle had someone heard such speech.

Anne gave her a quick look, and then settled back onto the headboard. "I'm sorry if I've offended you Ms. Alowne, it was not my intention."

Lilith had recovered as quickly as she could, ironing out her dress with her hands. "In a lady's own house, in her own room, in her own bed, she must be free to speak as she chooses. " Lilith replied, still in shock, but meaning the words.

Anne gave a sad smile. "That is gracious of you, but it is more like in my own prison, in my own cell, in my own cot." She said, her hands tightening around the glass, raising it up. "And here is the chain."

And when she brought her hands back down, Lilith could see the truth of her own words hit her like cannonball. She dropped her head, her left hand slowly coming up to cover her eyes, and she turned away.

"Miss Anne…" Lilith said, she found herself rising from the chair, striding across the room to sit on the bed, and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

There were no wails, no sobs, no shutters or whimpers. As Lilith ran her hand over Anne's arm, she felt the ladies whole body inhaling and exhaling, and behind the wall of her hand, at a slow march and looking as thick as honey, two tears trailed down her cheek.

OooO

It didn't really matter from perspective you chose to examine it, this had been a terrible first week at for Lilith Alowne.

The whole fruition of events had come in a bit of a whirlwind. While she had always loved the idea of serving at such an estate as Rosing's, when she interviewed several weeks before, it had not gone particularly well. While the head lady seemed to like her, the butler, a man named Mr. Thompson of whom had a rather dull demeanor if you asked her, seemed less than impressed with her work experience. She had a few references from local shops, mostly from people who spoke highly of her character but of who she had never actually been employed.

Most of her experience came from working at Inn/Pub that her father owned in town. And while she had referred to it as such during the interview, to call it either an Inn or pub was a bit generous. The place had only three rooms, one of which her father used as his own most of the year, the other two were referenced to as the economy suite, and the other the luxury suite. The main (and only) difference between the two was a splintered desk and rickety chair that came with the "luxury suite."

The Pub had an even harder time maintaining its definition, as it consisted of a small bar with two stools, and a table with two chairs. They served a cheap beer called Scheep's, and on the rare occasion when her father hadn't drank it all, they may have had a little bit of whiskey.

The menu consisted of whatever Mr. Alowne so happened to have in the kitchen on that particular day. Most days were limited to simple bread and cheese, and a watery onion soup after breakfast. A guest once claimed to have caught Ms. Alowne in the kitchen one day, and was fed a meal of pork chops and potato's so tasty, he related most excitedly to Mr. Alowne that he'd most assuredly come back. Mr. Alowne for his sake did not much fancy his daughter in the pub. Once he allowed her to work in the pub when she was younger, he found that she often sold more of his whiskey than he would, many nights leaving him with less than a half bottle for his own devices.

She made some poor excuse, saying that if they sold enough of it they could surely buy two bottles and keep a small profit, but it was just an obvious attempt to get him to stop drinking, much the way her mother used to. After a harsh talking to, and a little "physical reinforcement" as he tended to call it, she was never seen in the pub again.

It was sufficient to say that she did not ask her own father for a letter of reference, which would have been of little use anyway, so it was to her great surprise that one morning, weeks after her interview, she had received a letter from Mr. Thompson that said with great brevity that she was hired for the job and to make her way to Rosing's as soon as possible.

Lilith had an irrational fear that at any moment the Butler would change his mind, and had left her home in such a hurry, that she had only brought a day's change of clothes and a single Bonnet. She would have to send for her trunk once she received her first wages. Her father was still asleep by what was left of the fire from the night before, snoring just loudly enough to show life. She didn't bother to wake him and inform him of where she was going, nor to ask for money for a carriage. He wouldn't care of her departure, and wouldn't lend her money for a carriage if he had any.

It was the place she had grown up in, and in less than a half hour she had packed and left without a thought of remorse.

It was still quite early when she had set out, the sun would not be up for at least another hour yet, and she was determined that if she made haste, she could make to Rosing's by the time the staff began work for the day.

Despite her heavy dress and uncomfortable boots, she was able to make it to the property right around sunrise. What she forgot to account for was the vast amount of acreage that property consisted of. Even after making her way through the front gate she still had another forty minute walk to the front door, or so she would estimate.

Despite being in a hurry, she couldn't help but take in the grounds of the estate, which had clearly been designed by a man given a heavenly vision. The garden alone would make Eden envious, and it seemed as if every shrub, every tree was manicured to perfection. She doubted any person she had ever known was as well pared as the plants that she saw along her walk.

Lilith finally arrived at the dwelling. She had thought she would arrive earlier for it had been in sight for quite a long time; however, she had underestimated the size of the place and had mistaken largeness for propinquity.

By the time she had reached the front steps she was quite out of breath, and though she was a regular walker, she was certain she had covered half the county that morning. When she was just a few steps in front of the door, she opened her bag in search of the letter she had received confirming her employment. In her distraction, she hadn't heard the front door opening, and by the time she looked up it was too late and her legs were far too stiff to react to her brain telling them to stop. She slammed right into the man with whom she was to be employed.

OooO

While Mr. Thompson was just able to keep his feet, Lilith, while much younger was a good deal smaller, hit the ground in a most unladylike fashion, her heels flying outwards like a man jumping into a saddle.

"Stupid girl!" he yelled letting out high groan and clutching his stomach were Lilith had hit her the hardest.

"This is the result of uncontrolled breeding, I swear it." A woman said from behind Mr. Thompson, emerging out and taking a look down at were Lilith lay.

She was wearing the most ornate black dress Lilith had ever seen, and with the way Mr. Thompson seemed to be avoiding her gaze, and with her stern look of superiority. Lilith knew that this most assuredly was Lady Catherine.

"Who are you?" she demanded, peering harshly down at Lilith.

"I- I'm sorry Mam, I'm your new servant, starting today-"

"I should think not." Lady Catherine tutted, saying over her shoulder. "Mr. Thompson, see this girl off my property at once. If she gives you any problems see to the magistrate. "

Then, walking more over her than around her, Lady Catherine made her way past Lilith, and down to a waiting Carriage.

Lilith's face was hot with anger.

She had been seeking employment that would get her away from her father for months. She had run across town to a point she was sure her feet were bleeding, and she had just lost the best job she could ever hope to have in a matter of seconds.

She stood up, doing her best to brush the dirt off her dress and hating the way the woman had made her feel like a fatuous child. She turned away from the door, refusing to let the servants who were peering over Mr. Thompson's shoulders see her humility. She breathed in and out three times, composed herself and then finally faced the door.

There was no one there now but the butler, whose face looked even more blood-houndish than she remembered.

"I do apologize Mr. Thompson. I had just received your letter this morning, and in my haste to get from my home to here before the day starts, seemed to have lost what little grace the lord had bestowed upon me. "

Mr. Thompson stared at her blankly, making no gesture of accepting her apology, nor even acknowledge that he even heard her. If she didn't know any better she would think he was a deaf-mute.

"My utmost apologies sir." She gave a short curtsy, and turned to leave.

Every step she took, away from this house and towards her father's home, was like a punch to the gut. Since the moment she had read the letter, there had been this overwhelming lightness that had overtaken her. Just knowing that she was getting out, that she would never have to go back, made her feel as light as silk, like she had drank the perfect amount of wine, like the entire world was finally opening to her.

And now?

Walk back across the county on bloody feet to her father who was probably unaware and unconcerned that she had even left, to leave the only chance at freedom she had ever known behind?

Her hands began to shake. She clenched them as if the strangle the weakness. This would not be the end; she would find other work somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it were away from this place, this oasis in the desert.

She turned around for one last look, staring at the magnificence of the place. The arch windows on the south front, the Oolitic limestone that was so durable on the south block you could still make out the masons identifying marks. Like every other poor little girl that had lived in town the last two hundred and fifty years since its finished construction, she loved this place, and dreamed all her life of living here. All in one day that had been a fantasy, became a reality, and then a fantasy again.

It wouldn't matter how deeply she hardened herself, she wouldn't be able to think about it much longer without breaking. She turned to leave.

"Ms. Alowne?"

Coming down the stairs in a rather quick fashion was Mr. Thompson, looking left and right hastily, causing Lilith to instinctually do the same, though she didn't know what she should be looking for.

When he reached her, he said in a rather low voice.

"Go around the back to the kitchen's entrance; ask to see Ms. Pocks, the head lady. Tell her that you are starting today."

She was astonished. Surely he couldn't be serious; Lady Catherine had just instructed him to have her thrown off the property.

And why would she be reporting to him directly, was he was trying to be duplicitous? She didn't like the idea of him thinking she owed him something. He seemed to understand her train of thought from the look on her face.

"Lady Catherine never remembers anyone she considers so far below her station." He said, dismissing this. "Once you are in uniform you will be no more than that: A uniform. Remember that Ms. Alowne." he said, and with a curt nod headed back inside."

Lilith spent the first few days learning a maids typical duties: changing sheets, cleaning the fireplaces, dusting the furniture, etc. and while the hours were long and exhausting, she felt a certain sense of freedom in knowing that her work was of her choosing, that the money she made would be for her spending, and while she had to share a room with several of the other girls, they were sweet and polite and intriguing to talk with, for she rarely had anyone but her father to talk to, and they were never conversations she wanted to have.

At night, when all the girls chats had turned into yawns, they would each in turn blow out their candles, before wishing everyone else goodnight and tucking themselves in to their own small, but comfortable beds.

It wasn't much by other people's standards Lilith was sure, but it was everything to her.

OooO

Lilith had hardly seen Mr. Thompson since she had quite literally ran into him on her first day of work, so it was to her great surprise when he popped his head into the room she was in the middle of cleaning and asked for a moment to speak with her, before quickly leaving without waiting for reply.

After putting down a few cleaning materials, and a few "It'll be alright." Type glances from the girls, she quickly made her way into the hallway were Mr. Thompson was waiting.

"Good morning Mr. Thompson, what is it-"she started before being cut off by Mr. Thompson's sudden movement down the hallway.

"Not here Ms. Alowne, please follow me downstairs. "

Her heart was suddenly racing in her chest, as she quickly fell in stride behind the man she couldn't help considering what, if anything, she had done wrong.

She felt confident in her work around the estate; if anything she had been too thorough cleaning each and every room to close perfection. She had wanted to make a good impression of her work ethic during her first week as to make sure Mr. Thompson didn't regret his hiring her. Perhaps that had been the problem, perhaps she had been going too slowly and now he thought that she wouldn't be able to keep up.

These concerns churned around her head as the walk down the long hallway started to feel like a last march to the gallows. Finally, they came into an empty study that Lilith had yet to investigate. It contained shelves upon shelves of books and a large, thickly built desk.

Mr. Thompson made no move to go behind the desk for it was above his station; he seemed to have chosen this room for reasons that eluded her.

He finally turned around and faced her. A look of stern contemplation covered his face as if he was coming to a tough decision. She felt like she should say something; defend herself before he made his final decision.

"I hope my work has been acceptable sir. I am perhaps still a little slow but I will get faster-'

"You're work has been satisfactory." He said, breaking from his thoughts to look her up and down. "It is not that of which I wish to speak." He said, shifting his weight from left to right and clearing his throat.

"I have a task I require help with for the next several days, and Lady Catherine suggested that I get you to assist."

Lilith frowned in confusion, and then quickly realizing that it might be seen as distasteful, quickly said. "She requested me personally?"

"In a way." Was his vague reply, his face and posture giving little insight as to what he might mean.

She knew she would receive no more information, and found it best to reply "Of course. If her lady wants me to assist you in any way, I will most humbly oblige."

OooO

Mr. Thompson had been quite clear of Lady Catherine's directions. Every morning he would give her a glass of medicine in which she would take to Lady Anne. She would watch her take it in full before she left and would not speak of it to any other servants in the household. If Lady Catherine or Mr. Thompson came to suspect that she had not fulfilled her duties, her employment would come to an end.

It wouldn't have made too much of a difference if she had told the servants, Lilith thought. They had spent much time around Lady Anne in her drugged state, and they knew that every morning and every evening Lady Catherine went to her room with a glass of some sort of concoction, and every morning and evening she left with that glass empty. It wasn't hard to put together.

What no one could remember was when it had started. Even those who had been there the longest couldn't seem to remember. Lady Anne had always been catatonic as far as they could remember.

Lilith didn't have to remind herself of what it would be like going back to her father's inn, to sleep on the floor every night, hoping he didn't wake up in a rage, and she tried not to think of the woman lying before her, who herself lived in a nightmare from which she couldn't awake. She tried to clear her mind, not to think of anything, just to focus on her hand that was right now on Lady Anne, rubbing her arm up and down, and nothing else.

But Anne broke right through her thought.

"I'm sorry." She said, wiping her eyes. "I know you must be keeping you from your duties, and I don't mean to. But can I ask you a question?"

Lilith nodded, keeping a clear head quickly fading out the window.

"Have you ever felt as if you were completely paralyzed?" she asked, looking Lilith in the eyes truly for the first time. "As if you had lost all ability to move… as if anyone could just walk up to you and-"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

And then Anne felt Lilith take the glass from her hand, putting it aside wrapping her arms around her neck in a way she dreamed that a sister would. She pressed her face into small woman's shoulder, wrapping her hands around her waist and holding her close.

The two spent the next few minutes holding each other in a way two people do who had known each other their entire lives. When the tears had passed, they spoke in hushed whispers, Anne's eyes continually darting to the door. They finally came to an agreement, and after Lilith whispered that she must go before Mr. Thompson became suspicious, Anne took her by the hand.

"Thank you."

"We haven't done anything yet."

"Then just for today, thank you."

Lilith rose to leave. Looking at the glass that had long been placed on the bedside stand, she said to Anne. "Would you like to?"

"Yes."

"Then make haste."

After helping her lady from her bed, they crossed the room at a slow pace, for Anne was quite weak. In the corner of the room was a beautiful pot of obedient plant.

"It is too bad." Lilith said, examining it "This is the sort of plant that belongs in the sun."

"It surely does." Said Anne, tipping the glass empty.

OooO

Her Ladyship was awaiting him in the drawing room with her distinctive look of impatience, and while the rest of the staff thought of Mr. Thompson as her favorite servant, the truth was that she had no such person. She would be as impatient with him as anyone.

"I had planned to leave half an hour ago Mr. Thompson, have you been injured in some severe way that would detain you."

"No Ma'am."

"You well know how tardiness vexes me. I would not expect it of you, especially on this day."

He was not actually late, but knowing her moods like a farmer knows the clouds in the sky, he tried to redirect her anger.

"Forgive me ma'am, it's just that your wish to depart seems… sudden."

He could not ask her ladyship of her reasons for departing so abruptly, but he knew that if they were brought to mind, she wouldn't be able to contain herself any more than a bucket could contain a storm.

"I admit I was staggered as well, Mr. Thompson. We can never know when or where those who might try to destroy our family will reveal themselves. They may even be persons you have shown hospice to!" She said her voice shrill. "But no, no, I mustn't speak of it. I have yet to verify what substance these rumors may have." She said, regaining composure.

"I must be off immediately Mr. Thompson, but there is something I must show you before I leave." She said, her voice had become unusually quiet, her face hard. "I have a duty for you, one that I would not entrust to anyone, except that I must leave in haste and have not the time to think of an alternative."

Mr. Thompson's mind was spinning. What could it possibly be? He already ran the entire house for her, and she had no need for him to look after her finances, she wouldn't be gone that long, nor would she have any such of inclination.

"It is in regards to my daughter, Anne." Lady Catherine said, shifting the bottom of her dress in a rare moment of discomfort. "Her medicine is nearly gone and we are to have a new shipment of it arriving very soon. As you know, this is usually something I take care of myself…"

Yes. He knew.

It was probably the most eccentric thing that she did, and that was saying something. Every few months a few boxes of Lady Anne's medicine would arrive, the same medicine she had been taking for years and whenever it did it wasn't signed for until her ladyship came downstairs, signed for it herself, and took the bottles of her own accord to be put away.

No one knew exactly where she kept them, though indications pointed to her bedroom. Every morning and every night she would bring Anne a large glass of the liquid, waiting for her to completely finish it before she would leave.

He chided himself for not paying attention, and tried to refocus on what the Lady was saying.

"… So, when the shipment arrives I wish you to sign for it. And every morning at dawn, and evening before bed, I wish you to give it to her. Starting this morning. "

"But your ladyship, it would be most against propriety for me to enter her room."

"Of course, I did not mean you yourself Mr. Thompson." She said, admonishing the thought. "Get one of the maids to do it. Whichever one is the newest."

"Mam?"

Lady Catherine sighed at his slowness. "Whichever maid has the least experience and will be the easiest to replace will deliver the medicine to Lady Anne. When I return from my trip you will then relieve her of her position." Lady Catherine rose to leave." Give her no reference letter or means of which she could prove that she ever worked here, that we may keep everything _entre nous_. "

Mr. Thompson was beguiled, and it must have shown on his face.

"Are you alright Mr. Thompson, or does this seem too convoluted for you?"

He had seen Lady Catherine dismiss many an employee on a whim and his being the butler for so many years did not make him feel a shred safer.

"Not at all Mam, I quite understand. Where would her ladyship like me to put the bottles when they arrive?"

She peered at him untrustingly, and he had no desire to learn the secret hiding place where she kept the medicine.

"They could be kept in the cellar, amongst the wine bottles or-"

"No." She said firmly, though still peering at him with chariness. She did not want the bottles lying somewhere were anyone might discover them. She looked at the grand clock by the wall, unsatisfied with the time it read, and impatiently made a decision.

"Follow me Mr. Thompson, and make haste."

OOOOOO

**We will be picking back up with Anne and Lilith in the next chapter, which upon looking at it now will probably be even longer at about 6000 words or so, Thank you again to everyone who's been so patient and I will see you again soon. **

**\- Macurial**

**Preview of next Chapter**

"No. No, that will not do at all; you have the countenance of someone about to faint." Lilith said, shaking her head. "It is more like a completely lack of thought, an emptiness of mind."

Anne nodded determinedly, looking not at all like someone without a thought in her head. It was only her second day off the medicine, but already she seemed like a different person. Her change is persona was so drastic, that is Lilith hadn't known the cause of the sudden switch, she would have been concerned her lady was going crazy.

Lilith rose to help Anne from her bed, bringing them both over to the bedroom mirror. She wanted to make sure the expressions she was showing Anne were accurate, and she wanted them both to be able to see Anne's portrayal.

"You are relaxing your eyelids a little too much." Lilith said, showing her in the mirror. "Relax them only slightly, but really, it is the look in your eyes that is the most important. You must get that right above everything. Watch me."

Lilith stared at herself in the mirror, being sure to make her expression accurate to as she had seen Anne's prior to her sobriety. Anne, standing right next to her, mimicked the expression. It struck Lilith how strange it was to be instructing this prestigious lady on how to act like herself from two days prior. The absurdity of it all was outweighed too much by the abhorrence for her to find any amusement.

They practiced for as long as they dared, before Lilith declared that she must soon leave or else she would surely be reprimanded, and this would be the worse time for her to fall under scrutiny.

Anne nodded, and like the precious four times that Lilith had come to her with a glass of medicine before mercifully letting her pour it out, she walked over to her and gave her an overwhelming thankful hug.

"If at any point this becomes… too much for you, I will understand."

"No." says Lilith. Looking at the woman in front of her, thinking of the incredible transformation she had gone through in just the last two days. "There isn't any retreat from this fight."

Anne smiled at her, before walking her to the door and saying goodbye to what she comprehended was her only friend in the world.

She thought about Lilith's words as she walked towards her bedroom window, threw open the drapes and looked out at the sun shimmering off of plants of all different colors and sizes for as far as the eye could see. She felt warmth flooding her chest, spilling into her stomach before shooting up to her mind with a lightness she hadn't felt since before she could remember.

Anne hoped that Lilith's words were true, for as she looked out over the garden which had been her happiest place on earth, and saw each and every plant with complete and utter clarity, she knew that she would never take that poison from the pits of hell her mother call medicine again, even if it killed her.


	6. Ms Anne and Mr Thompson

I wish to bless the following people…

**Contrari Mari**

**ElizabethAnneSoph**

**Estella**

**Kgirl21**

**Krokopeplos**

May your Loves be as sweet and as rich as the best chocolate. ;)

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, they keep me going.

Without any Further ado...

**Chapter 6 **

OoOoO

It had been surprisingly painless to find out where the medicine was kept. While Mr. Thompson made good effort never fill the glass in front of Lilith, he had come from the east wing of the house in both the morning and evening. Lilith quickly caught on to this pattern and knowing the rooms in that part of the house, suspected the medicine was being kept in Lady Catherine's room.

On the third morning Lilith confirmed this suspicion by waking up a little early and stealing into Lady Catherine's room a half hour before she was supposed to meet Mr. Thompson. Not knowing were the medicine was being hidden, and worrying of hiding too close to its location, she decided to hide behind a large plant sitting all by itself in the corner of the room.

Mr. Thompson came into the room fifteen minutes later and headed directly for the oak writing desk on the room opposite. He did a seemingly involuntary scan of the room, before slowly bending down and opening a side cabinet, after a minute he emerged with a bottle large enough to fit a model ship into.

He uncorked it, taking a quick sniff around the rim. He grimaced, and duly poured its contents into a crystalline glass. He gave the bottle a few stiff shakes as it was nearly empty, and tossed it in a nearby bin. He again took a glance around the room, and seeing nothing out of place, he walked over to a nearby closet at let himself in.

The Closets at Rosing's, as Lilith had discovered, were quite enormous. She wasn't even sure that they should technically be defined as closets, as many of them held little clothes and they were roughly the size of your average kitchen. She would estimate that the floor space of her father's entire Pub was lesser in size than the smallest closet at Rosing's.

She heard some muffled creaks coming from inside the closet's door, and though she wished desperately to see where exactly the rest of the medicine was hidden, she dared not vacate her cover.

A few minutes passed until Mr. Thompson finally emerged holding a new bottle. After quickly removing the cork, and filling the rest of the glass he placed the rest of the bottle in the desk where its brother had previously sat.

Upon his leaving, Lilith stole across the room to the desk, knowing that she had only a few minutes to race across the house before Mr. Thompson arrived at Anne's door. Her fears were alleviated when she saw no key hole on the outside of the desk's door, and she was surprised to find no barrier of any kind on the inside of the door as well.

She wondered if Lady Catherine had never considered that a servant would be bold enough to go through her desk, and for the first time, she thought that their plan might actually succeed.

Hear heart started to race as she had spent too much time as it was searching the desk, she had to leave now if she was going to have a chance of making it back in time. She threw a quick glance at the closet. _I'll be back for you soon. _

OoOoO

Anne awoke up on the third day vomiting so profusely the household thought she had been poisoned.

_She has. _Thought Lilith. _For two decades._

Since Mr. Thompson was under the impression that Lilith had been successfully making Anne take her medicine, he assigned Lilith to her personal care until she was better.

"She feels there is no need to distress Lady Catherine with a letter stating her condition." Lilith had told him in the hall, not helped by the sound of Anne upheaving in the bedroom. "I am certain Lady Anne shall be well before her return."

"I already have, but it is of little consequence." He replied demurely. "Her ladyship will be back by first light."

OoOoO

Mr. Anthony Thompson had been the head Butler at Rosing's for nearly twenty years. A man of impeccable organization, he left his nearby home every morning at six forty eight. It was a ten minute walk to Rosing's at a casual pace, but he preferred to give himself a few extra minutes for any unforeseen hindrances that may come about.

When he had been a younger man he dreamed of joining the army, not for the thrill of war or the excitement of travel, nor to impress young ladies who were attracted to the red uniform. He saw it as his duty. In Mr. Thompson's opinion, there was no greater duty a man had than to serve his country, beside care for his family, and as the good Lord says in the Bible, care for the poor, but when he had finally come of the age in which he could join, the army physicians would come to find that he had abnormally weak lungs and couldn't possibly serve. He had known that his lungs were weak, they had been ever since he could remember, and he had hoped it would go unnoticed in their examinations. He was wrong.

Being a young man of humble birth and no trade, he desperately searched for any work he could find. The few jobs that were available were labor extensive, and he found himself unable to make it through a full day without collapsing, breathless. There were many nights he would come home aching from head to foot with an open bottle of wine in his hand. He was ashamed to recall that he spent the next several months as little more than an inebriated sulk.

He finally caught a stroke of luck when he received a letter from his great aunt, who was the cook at the famous Rosing's estate. She wrote to inform him that a footman position had just opened at the house, and if he could make his way down, she would put in a recommendation for him with the Butler. Using what little money he had, he hired a carriage to take him the forty kilometer journey north, and used the last of his savings to buy a new suit for the interview.

The butler at the time, a man named Mr. Morrow, did not seem very impressed with his work experience, nor his unaffected demeanor. But as he told him, it was difficult lately to find someone willing to take the job since Sir Lewis De Bourgh had gotten married. His wife, Catherine, seemed to be a notoriously supercilious woman, and there were few who wished to serve in her household.

Mr. Thompson told the butler he was overtly consciences man, and an overly appraising mistress brought him no apprehension.

Mr. Thompson, even at that young age, struck Morrow as quite austere. He would prefer someone in his employ to be more at ease, but his new mistress had been complaining most profusely over the manner of the servants in the household and he thought, for his own peace of mind, it might be best to hire someone similar to her in disposition. That was how Mr. Thompson first came to be employed at Rosing's.

There were numerous stair cases in Rosing's, Mr. Thompson would come to find, and though he had not been asked about his physical limitations during the interview, he was sure that if a member of the staff saw him leaning against the walls, constantly out of breath every time he had to ascend the stairs, he would soon see his work at Rosing's come to an end. And being the sort of man who followed the Lords commandments strictly, if Mr. Morrow had asked him about his condition, he would not lie.

Instead, he decided that he must strengthen his lungs as quickly as possible. He started by waking up early every morning and taking a brisk walk around the grounds. During the day, whenever the opportunity would arise, he would go to the rarely visited south wing of the house, and spend a few minutes going up and down the stairs, watching all the while for passersby, then, each night, he would walk around the garden of Rosing's one more time.

It was on one of these early morning walks around the grounds that he found Mr. De Bourgh and his young daughter Anne running through the garden, him chasing her at a purposely slow pace, her diving behind bushes at every opportunity that arose. He frowned.

It seemed somewhat inappropriate behavior, the girl's clothes were getting ripped to shreds, and she was stomping around in a decidedly unladylike fashion. He could only imagine what Lady Catherine would think if she were around. He started feel like an accomplice to some sort of crime. Turning around the corner, he made to leave.

"Excuse me sir!" A voice called out, rooting him in place. "I am of need of some assistance it would seem."

Mr. Thompson turned back around to see Mr. De Bourgh lying on the ground in fake exhaustion, now pointing towards his daughter. "The lady has stolen my toy, and refuses to return it. I have tried in vain to reclaim it, but she eludes me. Please, continue my struggle, and return the toy back to the realm it once belonged." Mr. De Bourgh then made a series of theatric gags, kicks, and shakes before falling "dead'.

Anne, with a shredded dress and tangled hair looked at him mischievously. Waving a tattered looking toy soldier at him, she let out an unbidden laugh and ran out of sight.

Mr. Thompson was stunned, having no idea what to do. He had to start work in mere minutes, and was now running behind schedule he was sure. He never really had been one for games, even as a child, but he had just been told, albeit in a playful way, by Mr. De Bourgh himself to go and finish the game.

He didn't like the idea of the child running off by herself, and seeing the "dead" Mr. De Bourgh now peering at him from where he lay on the ground, it didn't seem like he had much choice in the matter. He hurried after her, wheezing after just the first corner.

OoOoO

It took him about ten minutes to find her, by which point he was breathing very heavily and was in a sour mood for he knew he would be quite late to report for work. When he did find her, she was hiding behind an enormous fountain, one that he had seen in the middle of the park from a distance, but had never seen up close. She was on her hands and knees, crawling behind the rim of the fountain, not realizing that the wind that had started to pick up was blowing strands of her hair upwards. Mr. Thompson saw little strands of brunette hair with a tinge of auburn in it, dancing around the edge of the fountain like little flags on a castles tower.

He was gasping for air. His lungs couldn't seem to absorb it, and he could feel his vision going blurry.

"Are you well, sir?" he heard lady Anne ask, her head popping up from behind the fountain.

Mr. Thompson just nodded, unable to form any words. His hands starting to shake

"Don't worry!" she said, jumping up onto her feet and running towards him. "Just remember, the world is full of air." She lifted her arms up, motioning all around them. "You can have all the air you want!"

It was a funny sort of thing to say, but it was true, and he could feel his breathing starting to slow, and his lungs started absorbing the air with a cool refreshment.

His vision cleared, and he noticed that the little girl had been standing right beside him, eye level because he was still bent over. She smiled.

"Hello." She said.

"Good morning, Ms. Anne." He said with great decorum.

"May we return to play? I can go slower if you wish."

"Thank you Ms. Anne, but no. I fear I am already quite late for duty and I wish to arrive as soon as possible, let us return you to your father."

She sighed, but did not argue, and then, quite surprisingly to him, took his hand and began to lead them on the way back to Mr. De Bourgh.

He was quite stiff, she noticed, and barely squeezed her hand back at all. It was like he had never held a child's hands before! She'd never thought that an adult wouldn't know how to hold hands. She looked up at him, studying his face. He wore an impassive look, like an empty vessel that had never been bothered with a thought in its life. What a strange man! Suddenly, a new thought struck her.

"Will you get in trouble for being late?"

"Quite possibly, yes."

"But… you were playing with me."

"The fault still lies with me. I decided to take a stroll before work and did not allot any time for inconveniences."

She didn't think of playing as an inconvenience.

"Perhaps you could say that I was lost, and you were helping to search for me, I'm sure Father would-"

"No!" he said, in a tone a little too harsh for a child.

He felt her grip tighten in his hand, and her whole body stiffen. She kept walking, though her head now hung quite low.

He did not mean to respond so severely, and was thinking desperately of some way to massage his rudeness. They walked for a few minutes in stiff silence, until he finally said,

"I am sorry, Ms. Anne. I know you mean well, but I would not have you lie for me no more than I would lie for myself. Please forgive my rudeness just now."

Her head still bowed she gave a small nod.

"We are still several minutes from arriving Ms. Anne", he suddenly found himself saying without thought. "And I do believe that I was supposed to get you to return that toy you have so cleverly appropriated."

She looked up at him now, her eyes poorly containing her look of excitement.

"But… won't you be late sir?"

"We are headed in the right direction, as long as we continue that way, we shall arrive at the same time." He said, releasing her hand and watching her start to run off.

"The toy is mine sir, you cannot have it!"

"Stop thief!"

OoOoO

After a few months, his lungs were strong enough to ascend the stairs without strain. Without his knowing it, he had started to get a reputation as a strict abider of the rules, and a hard worker, though that was partly due to the members of the staff constantly witnessing him hustling back and forth around the estate, not knowing he was doing this for the sake of exercise. He was the only staff member who had never been censured by Lady Catherine, and after many years and several smaller promotions, it was unsurprising to all when he was eventually made the head butler.

He arrived at Rosing's several minutes before seven that morning, as was customary. Every morning he would check in with the Kitchen to make sure that breakfast would be on time, next he would check with the valet, the grounds keeper, and then with the housekeeper. The ladies of the house wouldn't be arising for another forty five minutes so this time was spent in preparation for their day.

This day, however, did not go according to plan.

The first thing he noticed, when he walked through the back entrance at the kitchen door, was the ladies of the kitchen in a huddle around the stove, chatting in excessive voices:

"… possibly be true. If there's anything his family appreciates, it is propriety."

"My sister works in their kitchen, and she swears it to be true."

"Is it that bad of a match? I mean, she is a lady…"

"Susan be sensible, a man of his rank marrying her is as you marrying the hunting dog."

The women laughed with mirth.

"Pardon me ladies." Mr. Thompson said in a quiet but firm voice.

The three ladies backs stiffened simultaneously, and as one, they all turned around with knowing looks on their faces.

"Mr. Thompson…" the head cook started, fidgeting with her apron. " We did not hear you enter sir."

"I arrived at the same conclusion myself Ms. Pollock." Mr. Thompson replied. "And I found myself wondering what gossip was so captivating, that the entire kitchen staff would put off their duties to examine it."

"We are sorry sir." Ms. Pollock replied for the three bowed heads.

Mr. Thompson sighed, for he disliked gossip. Not only did it waste time that should be spent working, it was usually negative, but, if he were to try punish every employee for gossip every time he caught them taking part in it, he would be disciplining until rapture.

"Back to work please. You may discuss hearsay during your break if you so need." He said, and turned to leave the kitchen, believing the conversation concluded.

"But that's the thing sir." A meek cook's assistant named Angela spoke out, Mr. Thompson turned back in her direction. "We don't have anyone to cook for… have you not heard?"

"No."

Angela looked to the other women for support, looking lost. Ms. Pollock stepped in.

"You see, Mr. Thompson sir, Mrs. De Bourgh received a letter this morning from an acquaintance. I don't know who the acquaintance is, but they informed our lady that her nephew, Mr. Darcy, was rumored to be engaged to a woman who they thought Mrs. De Bourgh would find… objectionable."

"And this affects your ability to make her breakfast in what way, Ms. Pollock?"

"She said she would not be having it sir, for she would be leaving immediately. As you know, Lady Anne doesn't eat breakfast, and so we were left with nothing to prepare until lunch."

"I see. Had we not planned on doing inventory sometime this week Ms. Pollock?"

"We were sir."

"Let us have all three of you start on that now, and I will see what her lady ship wishes to do for the rest of the week."

"Yes sir, and Mr. Thompson…"

"Yes?"

"Lady Catherine told the staff that when you arrived you were to report to her in the drawing room, she wishes to discuss some business with you before she departed."

"Thank you Ms. Pollock." He replied. "I will report to her immediately. I will return at lunch to see your progress on the inventory, please have the lists ready for me to inspect at that time."

He was through the door before Ms. Pollock had a chance to respond.

OoOoO

When Lilith reentered Anne's room, her face was so somber you might forget which of the two was ill.

Anne's face had been buried in a bedside pot, but upon looking up at seeing Lilith's expression, she shoved it aside, shakily trying to come to her feet.

"What is it?"

"Lady Catherine returns tomorrow. She should arrive by first light."

An invisible weight fell upon the two.

"Can we get to the medicine tonight?" Anne asked as flatly as she could muster.

"Quite possibly, but she only keeps the current bottle in the desk. You would soon go through it and then we would find ourselves returned to the same position. "

"Then we must find and replace the entire reserve."

"Indeed, but you my lady, you can hardly walk."

"I have but a few hours between me and the rest of my life my dear Ms. Alowne." She said, grabbing the bedside table with determination. "I shall not waste it."

OoOoO

_Is it about that time?_

Mr. Thompson checked his pocket watch. Not something he would ordinarily be able afford on his salary, but Lady Catherine had demanded it as a necessity for keeping an orderly household. She had given him a small stipend in which to purchase one, and be it from her not knowing what the typical cost of a pocket watch was ( He doubted she ever had to worry about such a trivial thing) or not caring if she did, the money she gave him was much too little. Still, he was able to make small payments on it over the first few years of his promotion and it had been with him ever since, always knowing the exact time as Lady Catherine often demanded they he know as well.

He was walking up the staircase the lead the wing where Lady Anne's room was located, and in the darkness he was finding it hard to make out the exact time.

_Nearly there anyway. _He thought, pocketing the watch._ Might as well check.. _

OoOoO

Since Anne had become ill in the days prior, Mr. Thompson had made an hourly checkup on her progress by giving a rapt knock on the door, signaling for Lilith to come and report. Anne believed it was upon order of her mother, who she would guess Mr. Thompson had sent a rushed letter to. Lady Catherine, as if knowing their plot, had ordered her to stay bedridden. Lilith's duty's had changed from nurse to that of a guard. She was to make sure that Lady Anne kept to her room at all times. This made the task now staring them in the eye seem all the more challenging.

As they stole into Lady Catherine's room, completely black in the winter night, they made their way to the closet in the darkness, for they daren't light a candle in the hallway, nor too close to the bedroom door for fear of the light giving them away.

They crept quietly across the room, Lilith almost completely supporting Anne with her shoulder which now screamed at her in ache from the long walk down the hallway. They each used their hands to guide their way to the closet door, Anne on the left, Lilith on the right.

Anne, who seemed barely strong enough to carry the candle and match, finally struck it as they entered Lady Catherine's closet. It was the sight that awaited them that made them gasp.

From wall to wall, floor to ceiling, were bottles upon bottles of what looked like Anne's medicine. They walked deeper into the room, with every step the little candle revealed more and more bottles stacked high and deep upon each other. Some had crates, some were loose, some looked old, and some looked new. All were full.

Lilith dropped the sack she had been carrying in her left hand, grimacing at the small clank that it made on its impact. "I cannot believe it."

Anne felt her legs begin to give, and nearly crashed onto floor. Lilith, snapping out of her stun, was just able to catch her under the arm.

"It can't be done." Anne moaned.

"…With a little luck perhaps-"

"No! We must be practical. If we worked all night it would not do, and we must be back within the hour." Anne said, her hands rubbing vigorously against her face, her legs, weak from the journey, starting to shake.

Lilith knew the truth behind these words, but seeing her mistress starting to breakdown, could not relent her hope. She bent down next to Anne, putting her arm around her.

"We can replace the few bottles here on the ground to the left. Those look the newest, and if she is using those first that will buy us a little time."

"We need more than time!" Anne hissed, shaking her shoulder to remove Lilith's arm, but not possessing the strength.

Lilith only tightened her grip, and held her closer. Anne felt a heavy remorse at yelling at the woman who was trying to save her, but at the same time she had to make her understand. She took a moment to calm herself, hoping, more than believing, that she was succeeding.

"Those bottles will one day run out, and what then?" she said, looking at her friend.

Lilith held her tight, shaking her head. She had no answer.

"Look at me Lilith. Look at me so I know you understand."

Lilith looked at Anne, who was staring at her with an intensity that quite honestly, scared her.

"I'll never take it again. Whatever that might mean for my future... I'll do anything before I'll take it again."

Lilith ran the hand that wasn't embracing Anne through her hair, again… and again. They were running out of time, and she could feel the implication of Anne's words weighing down on her as if every bottle in the whole room had at the same time become loose and came crashing down upon her.

OoOoO

Just as he was coming upon Lady Anne's room, the overcast sky diminished its cover just long enough for a ray of moonlight to peek through the hall windows.

Feeling good at his fortune, Mr. Thompson decided he might as well check the time.

It was approaching midnight, but it hadn't been nearly an hour since he had last checked on Lady Anne. The maid, Ms. Alowne, had told him that she was getting ready to sleep the last he had knocked and he worried that an unnecessary disturbance might wake the poor child.

_Poor child… _it was a strange way to think of her._ She hasn't actually been a child in quite a long time. _

He put his ear to the door. Hearing nothing but silence, he decided it was best to let Lady Anne sleep. Ms. Alowne was instructed to get him if him if her illness worsened, and with a stretch and a yawn of his own he started down the hall.

While he had been able to strengthen his lungs when he had first began at Rosing's, he was getting on in age now and it seemed that every part of his body was beginning to worsen. Old age seemed to take almost every little strength he had remaining. His eyes were beginning to go bad, his hands and knees seemed to constantly ache, and his feet seem to crack every time he hit a stair.

In fact, the only thing that didn't seem to be going on him was his hearing. For it was when he reached the end of the hallway, right at the end near his Lady Catherine's room, that he heard, though muffled behind closed doors, the tinniest clang of something hitting the floor.

OoOoO

It was then that the door creaked opened.

Both women jumped, each reacting instinctively to cover the other, ending up with their backs against a wall of bottles, staring up into a face barely visible in the candlelight.

A few seconds passed and Lilith was first to react, grabbing for the candle and lifting high.

It was plain as day on Mr. Thompson's face. He had heard every word that they had said. Whether it was the crash on the bag, or the sound of their voices, or if he had suspected something this whole time she didn't know. All the was obvious to her was that he had known for long enough.

They all remained still as the seconds pass, they only movement coming from the flickering of the candle.

OoOoO

She was staring at him now. He had seen her staring blankly at him a thousand times in her life, but she never stared at him like this. Not for years.

This was the strong, free little girl who had helped him when he couldn't breathe in the garden. Who forgave him for yelling when he had no right to. Who had willing to blame herself for his being late that day, though it wasn't her fault. Who had disappeared once…

He looked around the room at the hundreds of crates of bottles, and finally, he understood.

He always thought it was her illness that had stolen away that little girl, but no. _No…_

It was at that moment that he decided, looking down into the eyes of the little girl he had once played with in the garden.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and kneeled down, extending his hand. "Come child. You are ill and should been in bed."

He saw her look at him with more joy than she had when he had finally decided to play with her as a child he realized that for the first time in his life he was planning to do something.

He was planning to lie.

The two women looked at each other, their eyes unable to mask their hope.

"Mr. Thompson… what-" Lilith began to ask.

"We have little time Ms. Alowne, and you and I have much to do before sunrise." He said, taking Anne's hand and helping her to her feet. "And if there is anything that I can assure you, it's that Lady Catherine won't be late."

**End of Part One**

OoOoO

_**Several Months Later**_

She smiled, leaning back into the chair, and letting the music envelope her like a cool breeze at the shore.

The song was an original, one that she knew the young woman had been writing for months on end. Her creative progress in that time, in a word, was exceptional. The only thing that she could parallel it to as she sat listening, eyes closed, hand on her stomach, inhaling deeply as if she could breathe in the notes from the air, was her own rudimentary skills at weaving.

First you learned the basics, creating a warp, wrapping the peg, creating tassels. Soon, you would learn a few more complicated patterns that you could do, and in a few years' time, you were weaving smaller patterns into larger ones, into even larger ones, into the whole tapestry. That was like the young woman's music. It had become a beautiful pattern that wove this way and that, becoming more composite as it went along.

The song was truly reverberating inside of her, the intricacies of the notes, and the emotion she could feel coming off of the woman who created them was quite… powerful. She felt like yelling, crying, and laughing all at once. She had never been particularly emotional, at least not compared to the other women in her life, and so to her this mixture of emotion was both new and overwhelming.

_What is it with my senses lately? I feel like an exposed nerve. _

Her thoughts had interrupted her so much so, that she hadn't noticed that the young woman had stopped playing. It had apparently happened been more than a few seconds before, because the next thing she felt was a hand on her shoulder.

"Is something the matter dear sister, you seem a flush." The young woman said, gently rubbing her back.

Feeling annoyed with herself for interrupting the performance because of her reactions, she stood, a little too fast in order to assure the young lady.

"No! No, I am fine, truly. It was…"she exhaled, smiling at her little sister and grabbing her by the shoulders "A truly moving performance. You have untouched genius, there is no doubt."

"I do beg your pardon mam." A maid interrupted, entering the room. "But there is somebody here to see your ladyship."

Elizabeth gave Georgiana a little eye roll as a way of letting her know that she would rather be here with her, than entertaining guests.

"Very well." She said, straitening her dress out and pushing a loose curl to the side. "Who has come calling?"

A strange look passed over the maids face, and after she realized her hesitation, said. "It is Ms. De Bourgh mam."

"Lady Catherine?!" Georgiana exclaimed in anger, walking back around the couch to join Elizabeth in front of the maid. "She dares come here, after what she said to Mrs. Darcy at their last meeting?"

Elizabeth smiled at her new sister's defense of her. Even just a few months ago, she doubted that the young woman would have spoken her mind thusly. Mr. Darcy, while happy to see his little sister's confidence growing in leaps and bounds, did not care for the occasional times she let her emotions show. Though he gave her credit in that at least she never did it in a public setting. Elizabeth, while she would never had said it to her husband, thought that Georgiana's newfound voice had a long time coming.

Before Elizabeth had a chance to consider how she was going to handle Lady Catherine stopping by unannounced, the maid replied. "Oh no mam, I beg your pardon. It is Miss Lady Anne who has come."

"And… she has come alone?" Georgiana replied in surprise.

"Except for a single servant, and a_ single_ horse mam." The maid said.

_Only a single horse?_ Elizabeth thought. For women of Lady Anne's import did not ride in anything less than the best carriages.

At this, Elizabeth picked up her dress and began to hurry towards the front of the house. The maid and Georgiana following quickly behind.

"In What sort of state did the lady seem?" Elizabeth asked.

"As one might guess mam. She was soaked, her dress was dirty, and she seemed exhausted. Her maid was in a similar state."

Elizabeth nodded, hurrying her pace. "See that two baths are made for them at once, as well as two beds and two plates of the soup from the midday meal."

The maid nodded, hurrying away at once.

"Should we write my brother?" Georgiana asked.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth said. "He is to be home tonight, and from what I gather from his last letter, he already has enough weight on his shoulders to deal with." They came around the last hall, heading straight for the parlor door.

"What do you think it could be Lizzy?" Georgiana whispered as Elizabeth grabbed for the knob.

"I can only imagine."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I am very excited about where the story is going after this! :)

We will be introducing some familiar characters back into the story, as you can see above, as well as bringing back Colonel Fitz and Corporol Holmes after a few chapters spent with Anne and Lilith, though they will still be in the chapters as well.

But I don't want to give to much away... I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was long but I really wanted to wrap up this first part of the story so we could get on the other things. I plan on keeping the next few chapters shorter so I can update the story a little faster

Again, Thank you for reading and being patient. And you KNOW I always appreciate reviews, so drop me a line so i may wish many happy blessings upon you.

Until Next Time!

Macurial


	7. Two Sleep, One Wakes

To These Wonderful People: Jaz, Estella, Riya, Fuzzy Mammoth, tarlily, ElizabethAnneSoph, OddyBobo, Austione, **Contrari Mari ( Hope your move went well!) **Thank you for Reviewing!Now... May I Bless You.

May your true love's kisses be like a beautiful lake, so deep and wet that they make you shake. :)

I tell ya what, I do believe that making up a new blessing every post for the reviewers is going to be a new thing. It's been fun trying to think of new ones, and this one rhymed! Honestly just noticed that.

Too All Those now following... **HA HA HA,** you're mine now... hope you enjoy!

Bit of a Filler Chapter this post, shorter than before as they will be from here on out, but I like the idea of being able to post a bit earlier, as many of you do too.

One last thing...

Lets Go!

**Chapter 7 **

It was the smell that awoke him.

The mustiness of the mold was so pungent it ran straight down his nose and into his mouth, forcing an involuntary cough. Like a steel dagger being ran across his spine, a pain like he'd never known shot down his back and into his legs. His muscles contracted, bending his whole body upward, the force of it making him gag.

Hands came out of nowhere, grabbing him by the chest and holding him down.

"Be still Colonel! You must be still!"

The voice was distant, muffled. His muscles only constricted all the more.

"Sir, it is Holmes." The voice now whispered in his ear. "You _must_ lessen your muscles. Take a breath. Slowly."

A gasp he did not realize he had been holding was quickly and he felt the Corporal's hands switch from his chest to his back as he slowly lowered him back onto the cot.

He dare to take a few deep breaths, waiting to see if the pain would sprout back up. When it did not, he moved his head forward, very slight for he dared not move too much, and looked around.

He was in a dusky prison cell, a very old one from the looks of it. The window bars were red with rust, and the stone walls were covered in every kind of mark an imprisoned man could make. There were basic scratches and strikes to keep track of time, several decrees of innocence, religious symbols that he recognized from several different faiths, and even some lewd drawings, that in Colonel Fitzwilliam's opinion were both shoddily drawn and unrealistically proportioned.

He leaned back on the cot and heaved a large sigh. "The plan was unsuccessful I take it?"

"No sir." The young man said. "No, actually the plan worked to perfection." Fitz peered at the Corporal in confusion.

He realized for the first time that Corporal Homes wasn't in uniform. He was dressed as a common civilian, grey coat and pants, white shirt, not spot of color to be seen. The clothes all looked quite worn, even dirty, as was the young man. Even from his place on the cot Fitz could see smudges of dirt on his hands and cheeks.

"Holmes…" he gasped. "What has happened?"

The Corporal gave a heavy sigh. Standing up, he started to walk across the room towards the cell's window where a small, gauged table stood on rickety sticks that could barely be called legs, and the only thing that sat upon it was a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. It probably couldn't handle any more weight. The Corporal walked slowly towards it, pouring two full glasses, before easing back in his chair by the end of the bed and handing a glass to Fitz.

He took two large swallows, bowed his head and began to speak.

OoOoO

_I've died. I must have. _

_Days without food, sleep, or water would do that to you_. A sarcastic voice said in her head. _Besides, purgatory doesn't seem so bad._ _In fact, if purgatory came with beds this comfortable, she was wont to stay awhile_. Her head was perfectly cushioned, her body was warm, but not hot, and there was an almost perfect silence.

_Yes, it will probably get boring after a while, but boring seems a welcome change for the moment. _

Unconsciously she raised her arm, but it yelled at her in ache. She frowned, doubting than one would feel aching muscles in purgatory and at the same time beginning to make out a few rough shapes in the darkened area around her.

A night table at her side, a barely visible glow of the moon through a draped window, the vertical lines of the posts at the end of the bed.

Then she realized what was puncturing a near perfect silence. It was the low, steady rhythm of a person breathing. It was a soft, calming sort of sound that put her ease despite the surprise. Slowly, her eyes began to adjust, and she was just able to see the silhouette of a person sitting in a chair to the left of the bed. At the top of the silhouette she could just make out the tangled shape of curled hair tied to the back.

It suddenly reminded her of Anne, and she found herself jolting upwards. She leaned over to the bedside table, feeling for its candle. It took but a second, and barely another to then find the matches.

OoOoO

The stress of the day had finally got to her. The arrival of Anne and her servant, who needed both food and medical attention, and then she got a letter that had been rush delivered from Mr. Darcy that said, without any further clarification, that they were to be expecting several guests the next evening and to prepare accordingly.

It was unusually brief letter, even for someone as direct as Mr. Darcy.

She had the staff running about all day. Preparing rooms, scheduling meals and entertainment. She spent the day talking to a physician about both Anne and her servant's condition. The physician's prognosis was vague to say the least. He believed that Anne's servant was merely exhausted, and while frail, she was strong. Of Anne, he had a few more questions that didn't seem immediately answerable. He parted that evening with a plan to return the next day, saying that the two women shouldn't be in any immediate danger. The women themselves were both so tired that after they had ate they both asked, with mumbled words, if they could retire for the evening. It was only four.

This did little to ease Elizabeth's worry, and by the end of the day she was feeling quite exhausted herself. Neither of the women had said a word about the entire event yet, and though Elizabeth found herself incredibly curious, it would be ill-mannered to broach the subject.

It had been several hours since the ladies had retired, and though she was eager to do so herself, Elizabeth had the need to first look in on Anne and her maid. She made her way up the long Pemberley stair cases towards their adjoining rooms.

She found the maid still asleep in her bed. A tiny thing, her feet seemed to barely reach the middle of the covers. Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, studying the woman. There was something off about the way that she slept. She seemed too… rigid. She was under several layers of covers, so she should be warm, and yet she was balled together as if… as if she was expecting to be hit.

And then there was her countenance. She had been asleep for several hours now, and though she appeared deep in slumber, her face did not look at all at peace, but hard, almost focused.

Elizabeth stole across the room, finding herself sitting on a bedside chair, intently studying the young woman's face as though if she studied it hard enough the mystery of the young lady would become apparent.

Despite the hard-edged look upon the woman's face, she was an unarguably beautiful. She possessed the kind of beauty that could make a man forget her lowly upbringing, and marry her out of pure obsession. She no doubt had to deal with a lot of male attention growing up, Elizabeth thought she could deduce, she hoped the girl had someone around her to protect her from those who might have uncouth intentions.

Elizabeth leaned back in the chair, shaking her head. She didn't know the girl from eve, and yet she found herself feeling concerned for her. More than concerned, _protective_.

Before she closed her eyes, her last thoughts drifted to Mr. Darcy as they often did. His sapphire eyes which always seemed to be perfectly framed by his dark hair. She wondered what he could be doing, and if was nearly as intriguing as the mystery that surrounded the women who had fled to their house.

She awoke several hours later to find the bed before her empty. It did not take long to find where the young woman had gone. She made her way down the hall and slid open the neighboring room's door. The room looked just as it had earlier that day when Anne had first gone to sleep, except now there was a lit candle on the table next to her bed, and a young woman snuggled in behind her, their arms knotted, their faces the picture of serenity.

OoOoO

Holmes had never seen that look on Fitzwilliam's face. It was shocked, outraged, and inconsolably morose. Fitzwilliam turned his face away, and bent his head, and though Holmes could not see it, nor hear it, he knew his Colonel wept.

There was nothing he could say to help, for soldiers they were soldiers, and a soldier never offers another cheap words.

A half hour passed, the weight of the room making it feel like days until suddenly-

KNOCK…KNOCK KNOCK…KNOCK…KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The Colonel took a second to find his voice, returning it to that of commander. " Who is it Corporal?"

"It is the signal sir, days of waiting but he has finally come."

"Of Whom do you speak?"

"I must apologize sir." Holmes said, rising to answer the door "For I willfully invaded your privacy while you were unconscious, read through a few of your letters in hopes of salvation, for I knew not what else to do."

The Colonel stared at him, a little surprised perhaps, but not angry. He would never be angry at a man for being resourceful.

"And?"

"And I remembered you mentioning the night before the battle when we spoke in my tent that you had received informing you of the spy in our midst, and I figured if there was anyone that I could trust with your safety, it was him."

Without needing to look, Fitz knew who was at the door.

Holmes unlocked the cell door, swinging it open like many who stayed there before them had dreamed.

And in stepped Mr. Darcy.

OoOoOoOoO

Mr. Darcy's back and the baddies are in trouble, hey- now hey- now Mr. Darcy's back!

Review so I may Bless you.

Don't hate me, Fav Me!

Until next time

Macurial


	8. More Arrivals, More Questions

Shout Outs to these attractive people!

New Followers: Mayflower333, WedFam, Terymon, Kayqueue, bronte7733( Bronte's cool, but this is an Austen house!) Uk2nl, Kaida Fury, AriellaSerenity ( Firefly fan maybe? Or just a fan of peaceful calm?) Moragmc, sayux, Jgibson, 4872luk, **G Whickham ( points two fingers at my eyes, points two at your eyes…) **, Kayceegibson, crazychicklol ( I use LQTM, laughs quietly to myself. Its more honest) Bekaakgirl, Chyannss.

Now for the really, truly, so completely beautiful people who are so attractive, others can't even argue it so they just say "They're nice, but not really my type." BS! They want you and they know it, they just also know they don't have a chance so they play it off.

Lucille Ricardo, SilverSentinal, OddyBoBo ( love that name) Contrari Mari ( Got to be honest guys… she's my favorite.) Guest ( This guy gives me multiple reviews every chapter, in different tones, forms, and spelling levels. Weird!) Estella, KrokoPeplos.

May I now bless you all…

May your loves be as the brightest stars, burning bright for all to see, even a million years after it's gone…

Story time.

In previous chapters…

I remembered you mentioning the night before the battle when we spoke in my tent that you had received informing you of the spy in our midst, and I figured if there was anyone that I could trust with your safety, it was him."

Without needing to look, Fitz knew who was at the door.

Holmes unlocked the cell door, swinging it open like many who stayed there before them had dreamed.

And in stepped Mr. Darcy.

**Chapter 7 **_**Two Sleeps, One Wakes**_

The Colonel paused, hoping to show no emotion upon his face. He was not in love, not anymore…

**Chapter 1 **_**The Night Before Battle**_

Chapter 8

**More Arrivals, More Questions**

The jarring shakes of the carriage over the rutted road made it near impossible for Fitz to fall asleep. Every bump in the lane sent a tinge of pain up his spine as if somebody had jammed a knife straight into the bone. Despite the discomfort he kept his eyes closed and his head against the wall of the carriage, feigning sleep in hopes it would lead to genuine rest.

He heard a suitable clearing of the throat from across the carriage before he heard his cousin's deep voice.

"Corporal Holmes, how has…" Darcy again cleared his throat, and there was a low squealing of his seat, which Fitz pictured coming from Darcy nervously, but always properly adjusting is posture. "How was your journey?" Darcy said, finally getting his question out.

Despite the physical pain, and a mind full of the horror that Holmes had shared with him earlier in the day, Fitz found himself able to give a small smile at his cousin's familiar discomfort. Darcy social graces were much improved since he had met Elizabeth, but without her by his side he still found it hard to make conversation with new acquaintances.

"It wasn't exactly what I'd call pleasant Mr. Darcy, I'm afraid." said Holmes dryly. "What with the Colonel being injured and I having to move him slowly by cart every night, all whilst looking over our shoulders for those who had chased us out of camp. Made it all quite difficult to take in the countryside."

"Of course." Again, Fitz heard Darcy adjusting his seat. "And is the Colonel…" Darcy sighed, even for him this this seemed hard to get out "…Is he well?"

Fitz could understand Darcy's discomfort. He was not a man who liked to breach another's privacy. Despite Darcy and he being cousins, Fitz knew it would seem to Darcy like he was rudely prying or gossiping. In fact, he was surprised that Darcy had asked Holmes out right, and only a few hours into their journey.

"His back is badly bruised. I'm no surgeon, but he seems to be recovering adequately." Holmes said, his voice falling low.

"I wasn't referring specifically to his physical pain."

"His physical pain is all I can attest to." There was a pause, and Fitz imagined both sets of eyes looking his way. "The news I gave him…It is hard on us both, but do not think I could truly understand what he must be feeling at this moment."

That put an end to the conversation. Fitz kept his eyes closed the rest of the way, never able to truly fall asleep. Visions of his men ran through his thoughts. Being stabbed in their tents on a cold winter morning while he laid comatose, unable to lift a finger. He heard their bloody screams, which he couldn't tell if he merely imagined or heard as he had laid helpless on his cot. He thought of the traitor… the letter in his pocket… of what he must do, and how he could possibly go through with it.

He grabbed the hand without thinking- twisting it sideways

OoOoO

"Fitz- Stop!" Fitz could recognize Darcy's curly hair- even in the dark. He released Darcy's hand immediately.

A too familiar fog of irrationality was thick in his head. Fitz's head jerked around. He saw the Corporal sitting next to him in the now still carriage and not looking particularly surprised. He put a calming hand on Fitz and giving him a reassuring look to say that everything was fine.

"I apologize Mr. Darcy. I should have informed you not to awaken the Colonel before. His state of sleep has been quite alert our entire journey." Holmes said.

Fitz was sure that "quite alert" was a bit of an understatement. He had blurry images of their journey before he had awoken at the defunct prison where Darcy had found them, mostly of him waking in similar derangement and striking out at a man hovering above him. That man, he was positive, was Corporal Holmes.

Darcy was shaking his wrist a little, but seemed more concerned with his cousin's state of mind. "Are you well Fitzwilliam?" he asked, stepping cautiously towards the carriage were Fitz was still sitting.

Feeling angry at himself for possibly hurting Darcy, Fitz stepped out of the carriage with a bit of a stomp. "By Napoleon's pompous little hat Darcy, I'm perfectly fine- Did I hurt _you_?"

Darcy shook his head, flexing his hand. "You hurt me worse that time we got in a fight over the good fishing pole." He said, his smile just visible in the carriages exterior candlelight.

"Well yes of course, but then, I did kick you off a low bridge."

"Then fished me out using same pole."

"Yes, and still the largest catch anyone has ever made in that river." Said Fitz, with more humor than he actually felt.

It was then that Fitz actually took in where he was, though he knew the place so well. Beautiful Pemberley. It was still too early in the morning to visibly take in the sights, but he knew them so well, sight mattered little. Fitz could stare out into the blackness of night, only able to see a few feet in front of him, but could tell you every detailed piece of landscape that was in front of him not matter what direction you spun him in. He had felt more at home here than he had ever felt with his own family. It was here that he had learned to fight and fish, joke and play, learn and love. It was here at Pemberley that he had spent his happiest days of his life. He remembered racing Darcy on horseback, chasing a stage on the hunt, sneaking into a local pub when Darcy's father was out of town… He remembered asking her name… sneaking off in the middle of the night… climbing to the top of that tall tree near Lambton… sitting on the highest branch as stared at her and finally leaned in…_No! _

_Get it together man_, there's _no time for that now. _

His elation at returning to Pemberley quickly dispersed, they had things of which they had to speak.

"It is late, but we have much to discuss." Darcy said, sensing Fitz's mood and they both started towards Pemberley's front steps.

"Yes." Fitz said, ascending the stairs as quickly as his back would let him. "Let's begin with the spy and how the devil you found out about him."

OoOoO

It was indeed late, but a single servant still scurried about and Mr. Darcy ordered some food be sent to his study.

He offered both men a glass of brandy, with Fitz accepting and the Corporal abstaining. Holmes seemed to have a hard time relaxing. He was obviously exhausted, but his eyes were alert on the verge of twitchy. After such a long journey and so many days of looking over his shoulder for not only himself but Fitz, it was hard to cease and accept that he was finally safe.

The Corporal had only been sitting for a moment when he turned to Fitz and said, "I believe it would be best if I turn in for the night. I am sure you and Mr. Darcy have much to discuss, and my fatigue seems to be verging on paranoia."

"I think it's well earned, Corporal." Fitz said. "Dismissed."

The Corporal stood, saluting his commander. He gave Mr. Darcy a small bow and turned for the door before realizing he had no idea where his room was.

"Take a left out of the study, take a right at the first hall, down two, and then a right." Darcy said as helpfully as possible.

"Thank you sir." He said, quickly exiting the room.

After a moment, Darcy said quietly "I fear I have offended him in some way."

"His demeanor around you does seem less civil. Strange, he has always shown everyone complete respect as far as I have seen."

"You are his superior, Fitz, he would hardly do otherwise." Darcy said, pointing out the obvious.

"That is true Fitz." The corporal replied, making Darcy smile. It was something that had done since they were children. Whenever it was only the two of them alone they called each other by their shared name.

"I hope to understand why. Regardless, I do believe that you owe that man a promotion."

Fitz gave a small snort. "The man has saved my life numerous times, a promotion seems hardly enough. Perhaps a medal, my right arm and my son's and his son's first names."

Darcy nodded. "How on earth did he get you from the front line to a mere day's ride from Pemberley?"

"It is a long story, the specifics of which we shall soon discuss, but I am desperate to know how you came to discover the traitor in my brigade."

Darcy nodded, taking an uncharacteristically long sip of his brandy. Setting his glass down, Fitz could see his demeanor change. His eyes were down, his shoulders low. Fitz didn't understand it. The emotion he read on his cousin's face… was shame. What was it he could possibly be ashamed of.

"It is… something I had wished I would never have to speak of. Something I wish I had never known for it has changed so much of what I thought I knew…"

Fitz could feel the weight his cousin's words, like he taken on the weight of a man trying to hold up a bridge. He couldn't connect Darcy's shame with his knowledge of the traitor. What could possibly connect the two that would make him so ashamed?

"You must know, what I share with you cannot leave this room, and I cannot share everything. Much of what I know is dangerous, highly secretive, and not just to me."

As a high ranking military officer, Fitz was used to knowing and keeping secrets, and knowing that some would have to be kept from him for the good of all. He understood this thinking completely, and did not begrudge his cousin one bit. "Of course." He said with assurance.

Darcy nodded gravely, finishing the last of his brandy. He stood up, adjusted his vest, and began a slow pace around the room while clasping his hands behind his back.

"While attending a ball with Bingley and his sisters I was approached by a man who, while we were alone, claimed to be an agent of the crown. He said that he, and as such the country, needed my help. He continued to say that he and could offer me some… information that I had been searching for while looking into my father."

_His father? Is that still going on…_

Darcy continued to pace around the room, walking behind where Fitz sat in front of his desk, silently collecting his thoughts before he continued.

"At first I thought it a poor jest, or some sort of blackmail. But over the passing weeks, after checking his credentials with several government sources that I trust, it came as a great surprise to find that he was exactly what he claimed to be."

"Do I know this man?"

"I cannot answer that."

Fitz had figured as much, and did not press.

"Eventually, he disclosed why he had made himself known to me, and what he would have me do."

Darcy's pace came to a stop in front of the window near the seat of his desk. It was still pitch dark out the window but he stared out it anyway, again collecting his thoughts.

"I still had my doubts about his motives despite his confirmed credibility, or perhaps I just did not want to believe some of the things he was telling me. I think he sensed this… and as a way of proving his character offered me some valuable intelligence."

"The traitor in my camp." Fitz surmised.

Darcy nodded.

A few moments passed as Fitz took this all in. He understood the need for secrecy, but he needed more information.

He wanted to ask Darcy more about the agent of the crown. What was he investigating? Why didn't the government just inform him directly about the traitor? What information did they have on Darcy's father? What did they want Darcy to do?

It was while he was forming his first question that they heard it. Somewhere, several halls away, but perfectly clear. The faint, almost harmonic sound, of women screaming.


	9. Intruder

**I have to work all weekend but I wanted to get this chapter posted for you guys. I'll be getting to sleep here soon so I'm sorry for no shout outs this post. **

**However, I would like to thank all of you who have Favorited, Reviewed, and Followed and I will be making a more involved shout out during the next post. **

**Here it is!**

**Chapter 9**

**Intruder**

His weary mind was playing tricks on him again. He saw the men in masks everywhere.

In the crowds of the small villages they stopped in when they ran too low on supplies to stretch another day. On a distant hillside in the early morning's light. And when his eyes finally got too heavy from days without rest, he would see them in his dreams- only to awake with a violent start and find himself pulling madly on the horses' reigns.

They couldn't possibly know his destination, could they? If they were truly there, wouldn't they have attacked by now, why wait? Even now, as he walked down the halls of this immense house, he could swear he saw a man in a mask in his peripheral, walking down the intersecting hallway to his left. And like it was every time he saw one in a crowd, or on a hill, he turned his head only to see only empty space. It seemed they were either delusions or ghosts.

He wasn't sure which one was worse.

He rubbed his eyes until it hurt, trying to remember where Mr. Darcy had said to turn. Was it left, two halls down, then right? He doubted it truly mattered. In a house the size of this, there would be more vacant rooms than not.

He glowered at the thought. In the nearby village, there were men freezing in the streets with "nowhere to sleep." There _was_ somewhere to sleep in fact, as evidenced by the many an empty room he passed, it was only that society had decreed it unnecessary, or even unacceptable for a man of Mr. Darcy's rank to house such people.

He wondered how humanity had become this way.

One man has a warm house with enough space to house dozens of needy for a night, and no one would raise an eyebrow at him refusing to do it, not even the needy left out to freeze. Some days it was terribly hard to live in the world as it was: A society of men in power who would leave others to freeze and die in the streets… while he… fought and killed to protect this way, _their way, _of life.

He felt the heat of anger rising up through his skin. He had stopped walking, clenching his hands as hard as he could until the strength of the anger was squeezed out.

His skin felt cooler. He took a deep breath and kept walking. The last thing he wanted to feel like was a hateful man. Hateful men rot themselves from the inside out. He had seen it and he would not be it.

Which way had he come from again, the east? His squinted down the hallway in one direction, than back down it the other. He didn't recognize any of the paintings on the walls and-

He instinctively reached for his sword before his brain fully understood why.

It was instantly clear.

Screaming.

OoOoO

She hadn't been having a good dream, but neither had she been having bad one. Her mind was peacefully blank, calm. That may have been why she was able to detect his presence. He wasn't so much loud as he was…heavy. It was like she could feel his body weighing down the whole room. The weight of his boots on the ground, his muscles straining to pick up a leg and move it forward. The slinking motion of which he moved towards them made her stomach drop. Her mind was screaming at her _BAD! HIDE! RUN! _

But where? She could feel Anne's back against her own, rising and falling in deep sleep. There was no time to awaken her and flee. She could remember no other exit from the room except the one in which the man now stood in front. All she could recall was the Candelabra on the bedside table- a small creak in the floor told her that he was even closer than she thought. She was out of time to think.

She stretched her arm over her head, feigning a yawn and trying to pretend her eyes were still closed.

They were slightly open, enough to see that the man was still too far away to attack. He had frozen, content to hold his position and wait for her to fall back asleep.

She saw little choice.

Giving a second yawn, she stretched even farther- grabbing the candle holder and leaping off the bed with the loudest scream she could make erupting from her throat.

OoOoO

"The guns?!" Fitz implored.

"Too far." Darcy answered, running right behind him.

As Fitz already knew, the guns were kept on the completely other side of the property under a locked door. It was a desperate hope that some were near.

Fitz was drawing his own sword, taking a left out of the study into a lightless hallway. "You need a blade." He said with urgency.

Darcy responded by taking one off a nearby wall. Fitz hadn't even seen it hanging there. Darcy knew Pemberley even better than he.

"Georgie?" Fitz asked, following Darcy's lead as he took a right down the next hallway.

"The other side of the house, Elizabeth as well. The women on staff are all asleep." He said, taking another the next left. "It must be Anne and her maid."

_Did he mean Anne De Bourgh? What was she doing here? It was no secret that Lady Catherine was no longer welcome at Pemberley. _

There was no more time to ponder, they have arrived at the room.

Giving no thought to decorum, they burst through the open doorway to find a woman on the floor, Corporal Holmes holding a hand on her throat. Even in the candle light they could make out the blood. On the other side of the room, Anne was using a knife to cut the sheets to presumably fashion a makeshift bandage. Her wide eyes never leaving the woman on the floor despite the hazard of what she was doing.

"That way!" Holmes yelled, pointing down the hall opposite of which they came without so much as a look.

"The guards should be here soon." Darcy said. The sight of the bleeding woman had stunned him momentarily while Fitz was already running towards the door, plunging back into the darkness.

OoOoO

This was exactly what he had been taught _not _to do. Chase an enemy into unknown ground with no ammunition, little visibility, and no strategy. A man had invaded his cousin's home, a place that had been as close to a home as he had ever known. He wasn't thinking rationally.

_Slow down. Think. _

Pemberley was larger than a castle, if he started opening random closets and hoping the man would be there waiting behind the linens his odds of catching the intruder would drop dramatically.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned with a raised sword to see Darcy coming up on his flank holding a candle. He took a short moment to catch his breath. "Any sight of him?"

Fitz didn't answer. He was contemplating.

_Darcy doubled his security patrol at night when Pemberley had a looting problem some years back. Even for someone skilled in the covert arts, it would be neigh impossible to get this far into the home undetected. Perhaps… _

"Darcy…" He whispered. "Uncle Francis…"

Darcy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Impossible." He muttered.

"It is the only explanation. How else could he have got this far in the house without being seen? He must know. And…" he started running towards the nearest staircase, Darcy running right beside him, them both now knowing exactly where they were heading. "It is our only chance."

OoOoO

_Damn this island. Damn it to the bottom of the sea. _

His lanky leg stretched silently across the floor, moving him from behind a couch to behind a pillar in one long, quick step.

_The other woman was unexpected. What was she doing in her room, in her bed no less? The young De Bourgh has no sisters, no friends either or so I was been told... And the redcoat?! That was just plain bad luck. Even with the little harlot screaming her lungs out, I would have been able to slit both the of women's throats before the sound had carried to the courtyard. But the red coat had just been walking right by… And even then I would have been able to run him down, before quickly turning on the women. I may have even had time for a quick groping of their lifeless bodies for they had nowhere to run, and it would have only taken another few seconds…_

He suddenly felt very warm, despite the coolness of the night.

_There is truly nothing like touching a woman who could not resist_…

_But the redcoat had dueled with his bad hand… and had possessed a surprising amount of skill with the blade. Yes, these things had thrown me off for a moment…but even then, I would have slayed the redcoat eventually. Except once again, the screaming English wench… _

He felt his back, just below the neck. The little woman hadn't been able to reach his head while swinging at him, luckily, but it had been painful enough to stun him mid duel. Instinctively, he had turned his sword on her as she raised her arm for a second blow. He had cut her somewhere around the throat, where exactly he couldn't tell, having no time to look as the redcoat came baring down on him, his bad hand slicing his own sword across his arm. Injured- and running out of time- he had made the momentary decision to retreat. A decision he was now regretting.

_They will not accept my failure._

His arm was still bleeding, and the back of his neck felt like a horse had kicked it in, but he was alive. For how long he was uncertain.

He heard footsteps, distant but many. _The staff has finally awoken…the guards will be flooding the hallways in minutes. _

He adjusted his mask. It was perfectly white with a hawk like angle covering the nose, while a smoother curve covered the forehead to the hairline. It looked like it belonged on a gentleman at a mascaraed not an assassin on a massacre. He peered around the pillar, seeing candlelight in the distance as a half dozen men went running up a staircase on the other side of the room.

He took another long step towards the wall where a large painting of an overweight, smarmy looking lord hung almost to the floor. He took another step, his body now completely exposed, his eyes on the fading candlelight up the stairs. Three more quick steps and he was to the painting, his hand rising to the edge of the frame.

It never touched.

He heard only the man's final step, as he twisted his body in a fetal attempt to raise his sword and defend himself. It was much too slow. His eyes never even saw the vase the collided with his cheek.

He stumbled backwards into a small table, barely keeping his feet as he knocked its candelabra to the ground.

"That is the thing about masks." A man said. A completely different redcoat from before, this one holding his sword in his right hand. "They tend to obscure the peripherals."

He was accompanied by another, more regally dressed gentleman. He also held a sword, and they advanced on him quickly. From behind him he heard the shouts of the guards, still at the top of the stairs but turning around. They had surely heard the commotion- he had but seconds.

That left him with but one move to play. Grabbing the candelabra off the floor, he reached into his breast pocket.

The redcoat froze, putting a hand in front of the other man.

Obviously a military man, he knew how powerful the grenade he now held in his hands was, and how little time it would take to go off. They would not be able to extinguish it in time if they made a plunge for it now, nor could they retreat, for a man with any accuracy at all could hit them at this range.

"Tell the guards to halt where they are!" he yelled.

The Redcoat sneered at him and the gentleman's eyes burned. If they were surprised by his obviously French accent, they did not show it.

He twisted his right wrist, dipping the candelabra toward the grenade in his left hand. "We all die or we all live gentleman." He said in a low voice. "Choose now."

The redcoat's sneer fell from his face. He stared at the grenade.

His head hanging low, he spoke the gentleman without a glance in his direction. "Call them off Darcy."

The gentleman looked at the redcoat hesitantly, his eyes darting to the men still charging down the stairs, then back to the grenade one last time. He groaned.

"Halt!" he cried. Holding up his sword less hand.

Most of the guards stopped in their tracks, a few disbelieving men crept forward.

"If they want their master to have all his limbs tomorrow, I would suggest a _complete elimination_ of movement." He said, dipping the flame a blades width from the grenades wick.

The gentleman instinctively stepped backwards. He put his blade away and held up both hands, looking towards the few creeping men urgently.

They finally ceased.

He smiled at them like a master at a hound who finally sat on command. "Now please, put away your sword Colonel. You seem to be contemplating the odds of spearing me with a desperate throw, which would not end well for either of us."

With a final sneer, the redcoat relented, sheathing his sword. He did not, however, step away.

"My corporal told me it was men it masks that attacked my camp. You must be with them." he said, clasping his hands in front of his body like he had entered into an economics conversation.

His eyes gave him away however. They burned with hatred.

"Of course I am."

"This is a long way from the front lines soldier."

He tisked, backing towards the hidden entrance. "I am no soldier Colonel. That you must realize."

He put an elbow on the painting, opening it just enough to fit through.

"And away from the front lines, that is where I specialize. You will find it is here, far away from the front line, where the battles are truly won. Where it becomes… _truly_ dangerous.

He slipped through. The painting slammed closed.

Darcy took a step forward as Fitz grabbed him, pushing him the other way and shouting over his shoulder. "Get down!"

The men on the staircase ducked.

The ingratiating face of Darcy's great uncle looked down at the scene, unimpressed. The indifferent look upon his face was quickly demolished as pieces of explosion flung stone tore it apart.

OoOoO

Not a lot of answers this chapter, all action, but they will be coming and soon. The Next chapter as I have it outlined right now will bring a lot of clarification and character interaction.

Thank you all for reading, I hope you are having a beautiful summer if you are in the Northern Hemisphere like I am and I will see you soon.

Macurial


	10. Scared, Scarred

Wow. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, to everyone who has Favorited, Commented and Followed since the last posting. You guys have been so encouraging, wonderful, and patient and I wouldn't get nearly the joy out of all this without you.

It's gotten to the point where it would take too long to thank all you individually. So let me do one big large blessing for everyone who has been so supportive so far.

May your heart be as clear as a mountaintop sky,

so you won't miss your love, when they come,

should you even try.

It's a long chapter! Enjoy.

Chapter 10

She put a hand to her mouth. It was all becoming increasingly clear. The exhaustion, the nausea, the protective feelings regarding Georgiana… How would she tell Darcy?

She smiled, surprising herself with a sudden thrill of exhilaration. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face. He was so accustomed to controlling his expressions, his mood. At the same time, she knew that he wanted this above anything. She knew this because he had told her. She knew this because so did she.

It was pitch dark out. Where was her husband anyway? He was supposed to have returned tonight, but the nausea had awoken her to an empty bed. _Well_…That's _not entirely true is it?…_ she thought, placing a hand on stomach. She hadn't been the only one there.

She walked back towards their room, her mind a dozen places at once, when she heard the jostling of armor. Soon, guards came rushing around the corner.

"Mrs. Darcy!" the head one said, a middle aged man with a face full of panic. "There has been an intruder!"

She was stunned.

She soon Realized that her mouth was agape, assumedly with an expression to match. The guards were all staring at her anxiously.

_They need you to be Mrs. Darcy right now. They need you to be the lady of the house. _

She closed her mouth, and looking the guard in the eye and spoke clearly. "Has anyone been harmed?"

"We do not know Mrs. Darcy. A few guards on patrol heard screaming on the other side of the house."

_That could only be Anne. _

She had yet to discover what series of events had brought her now cousin-in-law to their home, but mere hours after she arrives there is an intruder?

_The two must be related._

"I sent two units to investigate the screaming. One was sent to protect you and one for Ms. Georgiana. The other units are probably sweeping the house for the intruder as we speak." The head guard said.

At that moment, another unit of six guards came marching down the hall, stopping right in front of where Elizabeth stood, standing at attention.

"Excuse me, gentleman." An exasperated little voice said.

Two of the guards split, and Georgiana emerged from their protective huddle.

"Can you please explain," she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Why I awoke to the sight of six armed men hovering over me?"

A few guards shuffled their feet, a few others suddenly found the paintings on the walls captivating, looking away from the young woman standing, without a care, in her nightgown.

Georgiana had grown so much since Elizabeth had first met her, when she still thought of herself as a silly girl tricked by the offerings of love from Mr. Wickham. _She is hardly the first woman to be blinded by the promise of love. _Elizabeth thought. Still, Georgiana's growth was not completely comprised of her current state of mind. She had too physically changed, as shown by the discomfort of the guards around her.

The girlish lines of her body had given way to womanly curves, which were more highlighted than usual in the nightgown she now wore. Her hair had been let down for the night, a waterfall of thick blonde hair cascading down her back. Combined with the countenance that showed the passion and intelligence of a young woman of considerable worth, she was poised to be the adoration of many young men who would be interested in more than her dowry.

Elizabeth would have been amused by their discomfort but for the peril that endangered them all.

"There seems to be an intruder." Elizabeth informed Georgiana, turning her head towards the hallway. " The guards heard screaming coming from the direction of Anne's room."

Georgiana gasped. "We must go to their aide!" Taking several hurried steps in that direction, before Elizabeth unwittingly laid a hand on her arm. Georgiana turned around, eyeing Elizabeth with surprise and confusion. Elizabeth could understand why.

Had it been yesterday morning when these events took place, Elizabeth would have probably sprinted down the hallway, thinking only of Anne and her maid and giving little thought to her own welfare, and Georgiana had grown to know her zeal quite well.

But this was different.

_It would be putting Georgiana in danger, it would also endanger… _her hand reflexively went to her stomach. Realizing her error immediately, she moved her hand quickly to her other arm, crossing them both as if she had intended to do this all along.

Georgiana's frown only deepened, her expression growing inquisitive. She stepped towards Elizabeth, placing a concerned hand on her forearm.

"Elizabeth… what-"

Her hand reflexively tightened around Elizabeth's arm- Elizabeth catching her- both supporting each other as their legs gave way to a sudden shaking of the floor.

OoOoO

The tremors subsided before anyone could make for cover. The air was thick with confusion, except for the leader of the guards who had first spoke to Elizabeth. He was staring at the floor with an alarming recognition. His eyes found Elizabeth's. The look giving her insides a stabbing twist.

"That was no tremor of the ground Mrs. Darcy." He said, ordering the men to surround the Darcy women. "I was in the Army most of my life." He continued when they were finally surrounded. "That was the shake of an explosive."

_An explosive? What sort of thief would bring explosives?_

At that moment, a third group of guards came hustling around the corner, the man at their front came over to greet the leader of the guards.

Breaking the huddle, the lead guard barked at the new comer. "Report man! What has come about?"

"We don't know sir!" the guard said, looking to the women. "We were on our way down stairs when Mr. Darcy sent us in search of Mrs. Darcy."

_Mr. Darcy is home? Where? Not…_

"And where did you see Mr. Darcy last?!" Elizabeth demanded, stepping towards the man. The guards face went blanch.

"He and the Colonel were headed downstairs last I saw him Ms. Darcy."

This time she couldn't stop herself. Elizabeth picked up her nightgown, turned, and ran down the hallway. Her guards, stunned, took a moment to respond before curtailing after her.

"Take the other guards to Anne." She yelled over her shoulder at Georgiana, who was looking ready to run after her. "She may still be in danger. I'll send word about Mr. Darcy as soon as possible, and for God's sake be safe!" Georgiana obviously hated the order. Her brother could be injured, or worse, and she had was being told to run in the other direction. Elizabeth was about to turn the corner, and she could see disobedience clear on Georgie's face. But at the last second… it passed, and she in turn spun around in the other direction at a run before Elizabeth lost sight.

OoOoO

There were pieces of limestone everywhere. Shredded and scorched pieces of canvass littered the room, laying on the splinters of what used to be furniture. He could barely breath, and as he craned his neck up to look around he realized why.

Fitzwilliam was lying almost completely across him, his deadweight flattening his chest. If they had been the hands on a clock, Darcy's head would've been pointing towards twelve as Fitzwilliam's would've been pointing towards two.

Being able to do nothing but look around, that's what he did, craning his neck as far as he could see. The destroyed limestone made a sort of smoggy dust that hung in the air obscuring anything more than ten feet away. He wiggled his left arm, and his right. They both seemed to be working.

Then he looked down.

His brain seemed to have a hard time comprehending what he was seeing for a moment, then the truth hit him making his stomach turn.

From where he was lying, it looked like he had two right legs and a left. Then he realized that the second right leg, of course, wasn't his. It was Fitzwilliam's. It just looked like his because it had been twisted almost completely around.

He wanted to lift up Fitz, but he couldn't move. He wanted to check his pulse. But he couldn't move. He thought he could maybe wiggle free, but he couldn't be sure he could do so without further injuring Fitz.

If he was still alive.

He felt helpless, and then he felt angry. He thought of the man who had done this, and the man he knew was responsible. But still, he couldn't move. He yelled.

"Guards!"

They must have been coming for him already for they were there in quick order. They went to move Fitz, and despite his eagerness to rise, he stopped them.

"No! He needs a stretcher. Do not transfer him until you have one."

"But we don't have any stretchers Mr-"

"Then find a cot, or a mattress, or tear down a drape and have two men carry him around but don't you dare roll him off to get to me!" he thundered.

The men, now looking properly abashed, stalked off in search of something to use. Darcy could hear the other men starting to clear away some rubble around where the Portrait of Darcy's great uncle used to hang and where the secret entrance to Pemberley was. Still not being able to move and see what the men were doing he called one over to give him details.

"Sir, it has collapsed! Not just the pieces of the wall but the tunnel itself."

Darcy's jaw clenched. It could take weeks to clear it all out and there would be no chance of catching the intruder now. Even if he sent guards on horseback.

In a few minutes the other guards returned with what looked like a thick table cloth. Four of them gently lifted Fitzwilliam off of Darcy, before lowering him down on the Cloth that Four other men supported. They turned Fitz on his back, the leg that Darcy had momentarily mistaken for his own was now pointing towards the ground. The guards winced at the sight of it as two more came to help Darcy to his feet.

He felt as if he had been flattened by a boulder, but he was able to stand up on his own power none the less, dusting off his jacket and looking to the guard nearest him.

"Send our swiftest rider to fetch the doctor, have the Colonel taken to the nearest bedroom and for heaven sake someone bring him some brandy for when he awakens, then-"

"Mr. Darcy!"

He turned around to see Elizabeth running hurrying towards him, stepping over the rubble a little clumsily. She looked down at Fitzwilliam.

"He seems to be breathing- "Darcy began, but Elizabeth was paying attention to Fitzwilliam at the moment. She had ensnared Darcy in a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. After a moment of surprise, Darcy's arms fell around her. "My dear?"

Her embrace was the tightest he imagined she could make, for she squeezed herself against him like if she didn't he might float away. His expression changed from that of man-in-battle to that of man-in-love and he returned to embrace fervently.

"I am safe my love." he said so only she could hear. "We are safe." He raised one hand to the back of her neck, rocking his wife ever so slightly.

They stayed that way for a minute, her embrace loosening slowly and ever so slightly. "I promised Georgiana I would send word once I knew you were safe." She said into his shoulder.

He instructed a guard to do so, continuing to hold her.

"Darcy," she said eventually, leaning back to look at him "what is happening?"

Darcy shook his head. "I do not know, not with any certainty. I didn't even know Anne was here until I heard screaming."

"It is still a puzzle to me as well, though I can't help but imagine that tonight's events evolve Anne in some way. Her arrival and the intruders seem too much a coincidence."

"I agree."

"And Fitzwilliam, have you had any explanation from him as of yet?"

"No." Darcy said, looking crestfallen at the thought of his cousin. "I was never able to broach the subject."

Elizabeth frowned, but didn't push the explanation.

"Are you well?" Darcy said, looking down at her. She'd been rubbing her stomach, and had frozen in place at his noticing. "Elizabeth?"

She seemed to consider her words briefly

"I am well, Mr. Darcy." She said finally, simply, kissing him on the cheek and taking his hand. "Let us see to Fitzwilliam."

The answer and her contemplation didn't seem to match, but Mr. Darcy's attention quickly returned to his injured cousin and the matter soon slipped from mind.

OoOoO

_I'm shaking… but I don't feel cold. Then why am I shaking? Warmth... there is warmth on my face... Why?_

She saw a face. The face of a man, though he wasn't looking at her. He was looking to the left, speaking. His head then snapping back to the right, eyes alert, tense, waiting. He spoke again, the lips were moving yet there was no sound.

_Am I deaf?_

She felt pressure on her face, along her jaw and just under her lips. It was firm, but not uncomfortable, and quite warm. She looked down, it was his hand and… blood. Lots of blood. Then Anne came into sight, looking down at her and trying to hide the fear in her eyes with a smile. Lilith smiled in return, but the man whose face still took up most of her sight seemed to be saying something, adjusting his hand on her face. Shaking his head. Then, she finally heard his voice.

"Don't smile." He said sharply, "You'll bleed more." His voice not so much deep as it was gravelly.

"What has happened?"

"Intruder." The man said distractedly, looking towards the hallway. He, she now noticed, was covered in red. Not blood, but a uniform. _Why is a soldier here?_

"Are the bandages ready?" he said urgently to Anne.

"Yes."

He nodded. "Set them down here beside me. I can fasten them, but will need you to cover the wound."

"She shouldn't- "Lilith began to protest her lady doing anything so below her station.

"Hush now," Anne said, kneeling beside her. "I would go much further, and you are opening the wound every time that you speak."

They switched, Anne placing her much colder hands against Lilith's face while the man reached for the bandages. He took out a knife, making smaller cuts here and there on several pieces, talking while he did so. "Now," he said, "This cut isn't as deep or broad, but it is in a peculiar spot along your jaw, it will be hard to tie these bandages in place. So please…", he now reached towards her with one of the strips, "remain still."

It took a few minutes of tying and retying, but in the end she had several strips running horizontally under her lip and around her neck, and vertically under her chin and over the top of her head.

"How does it feel?" the man asked.

"Tht." She mumbled through tight lips.

"I'm sorry." He said sympathetically. "The discomfort is necessary to cease the bleeding."

Her hands reached up to where the cut ran, her questioning eyes finding Anne's.

Lilith didn't consider herself a vain woman by any means. she'd never been one to stare into mirrors for prolonged minutes, who had she ever had to look good for anyway? But yet, she had always been content with the way she looked, which she knew enough to know was more than most could say. But the sudden realization that from this point on she would have a scar running across her face…

Anne seemed to know her thoughts. "It wasn't as grisly as you might imagine my dear, just a little line across the jaw, probably won't be noticeable at all."

She turned to the Redcoat, her brain taking this most inopportune moment to notice the handsomeness of the face. He simply smiled at her, acknowledging Anne's words with a nod. It was a good attempt to console her on their part, but it would be no use until she saw the cut herself.

The redcoat had extended her a hand and she accepted, standing up in a way that wasn't nearly as gracious as her brain had told her it would be. But he didn't seem to notice, for when she had fully reached her feet, his hand lingered on hers, his dark eyes looking into hers with an unnerving sense of sincerity. Looking at him full on for the first time, the light of the candle illuminating a reddish-gold hair that spilled in waves over his ears, she had the distinct impression of coming face to face with a lion.

"Thank you." He said, his voice a little less rough. "He would have killed me, I dare say, without your intervention."

She wanted to say that she would've died if he had not come along first! But she had momentarily forgotten that her mouth was quite literally tied shut. So all the came out was. " Thnsdh adheh mmm."

She looked to Anne, who was looking a little too entertained by the situation, for help. But Anne just shrugged. "I cannot interpret your mumbles my dear, we shall have to find a different- "

At that moment the ground started to shake.

OoOoO

The next several hours were spent with the household staff running this way and that. Elizabeth saw to the tunnel being cleared and the massive hole being covered. The job in full would take months to complete, but for now they would have to make do covering the hole with wooden boards. A dozen servants had brought in wood, tools, and set up several benches to cut the pieces that were needed. The sound of sawing and nailing could be heard down the hall as Elizabeth oversaw the progress.

Mr. Darcy spent this time writing many hasty letters, sending for a doctor to see to Fitzwilliam and Anne's servant, writing to a stone mason to see to the hole in the wall, and several to government officials. He sent each out with a man on horse, and when he was finally done the sun had already come up and it was nearing breakfast.

Walking down to the dining hall, he was running over each of the letters in his mind, trying to think of something he may have forgotten.

To the household staffs credit, the morning meal didn't seem to have suffered despite the night's activity. When the Doctor had arrived, he had given Fitzwilliam something to ease his pain, making him quickly fall asleep and in not state to eat breakfast at the moment, whereas Anne's servant was unable to eat due to her bandages, which the doctor had looked at and decided had been applied perfectly well.

Everyone else was at the dining table, as well as the two added guests…

Elizabeth had forgotten amidst all the activity that morning that they were arriving, and as she sat at the breakfast table she subtly turned her head to the side, away from the two, and rubbed the temples of her forehead. This would have been trying on most mornings, but on this one… it was simply unfair.

"My _dear_ man -what a travesty! I am angered, I am distraught, I am at a complete and utter loss of myself!" Mr. Collins pontificated as he rose from his chair, speaking to Mr. Darcy as he entered the room. He made not move to walk over to Mr. Darcy however, it was as though he had stood in order to gain the audiences complete consideration.

Elizabeth did her best not to sigh, or roll her eyes, or stab herself in the leg with a fork. Besides, she was sitting right next to Charlotte, and despite how Mr. Collins was, Charlotte was her oldest friend.

Mr. Darcy, to his credit, kept his composure. "Thank you, Mr. Collins." he said wearily, sitting himself down at the head of the table. Mr. Collins remained standing, apparently expecting a more thorough response from Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, however, was being served some bread and gave no indication of showing Mr. Collins any further attention.

Mr. Collins now stood awkwardly, all eyes but Mr. Darcy's on him.

"Mr. Dear" Charlotte said, coming to his rescue, "would you like some cream?"

"Eh? Cream? Oh, right, yes my dear, indeed. "Mr. Collins said, sitting himself down.

It was then that Mr. Collins seemed to notice Anne sitting on the other side of the table. His brow furrowing while Anne's eyes made no move to leave her plate.

If Mr. Collins planned to try and take Anne back to Lady Catherine, he would be sorely disappointed, and Elizabeth tried not to think of all the unladylike words she would be tempted to say if that situation arose. No, she did not yet know why Anne had come to them, Mr. Darcy had decided that it would be best if they all had a much needed meal first. After breakfast, they would finally gather in the drawing room to discuss it all: What had happened with Fitzwilliam and how he had escaped, what had brought Anne and her servant to them so suddenly, who Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam thought had told the intruder of the secret entry way, everything.

But the meal seemed to stretch on forever, Mr. Collin's had started up on his favorite subject again, Rosing's. This time discussing the trials of finding limestone in the 16th century, and how the architect had succeeded, claiming the man had taken it off the Pyramids themselves. Though bored, Elizabeth asked as many insightful questions as he could think of, anything to keep him off the subject of last night, and Anne. Mercifully, the meal finally came to an end as everyone rose from their seats and made their way to the drawing room.

OoOoO

The conversation was going to be much more difficult to have.

Mr. Collins unfortunate arrival caused a problem. How could they sufficiently speak of Anne, the events of last night, and her flight from Rosing's with Mr. Collins, who would surely report all that was said back to Lady Catherine, in the room?

Elizabeth did everything she could think of to dispatch him from the group. She offered to have someone show him the library and the lake, or to go horseback riding, or to visit some of the local religious sites. He guffawed at her attempts. "And leave our party? Cousin Elizabeth, surely you must see how rude that would be. Besides, once you have seen Rosing's, all other places", he then looked around the drawing room with dissatisfaction, "just seem lacking." He shook his head, turning back to Charlotte to discuss the differences between the bannisters at Rosing's and the bannisters at Pemberley.

Only Mr. Collins could cite propriety then slight the home in which he was a guest in the very same sentence. A home that had come to mean so much to Elizabeth. She felt hot with anger, wanting to defend her home to the silly man but knowing she must not. She bared her knuckles behind her back and kept her tongue. Mr. Collins eventually ended his conversation with Charlotte and got up with a furrowed brow to inspect a few of the portraits the lined the room.

Elizabeth went with her second plan, getting up and sitting next to Charlotte. Charlotte was well aware of how Mr. Collins was seen by society, even realistic about it. By her own admittance, she had entered the marriage out of necessity, and when Mr. Collins became too… well, Mr. Collins, she did a good job of anchoring him home. Elizabeth hoped this would be one of those times.

Elizabeth and Charlotte had discussed their home lives, projects they were working on and a little gossip, all while avoiding the topic of the last night's intruder. Finally, she turned to the subject she which to approach. Her and Charlotte had been best of friends for many years, which gave Elizabeth good insight to her disposition. Charlotte was honest and blunt, but never rude. As such, Elizabeth decided to address the issue as such:

"I am sorry that we were not better prepared to host you my dear, we were quite honestly, distracted."

"It is, of course, understandable." Charlotte replied, looking around to make sure no one was listening in.

"Do you have any idea who sent the intruder?"

Elizabeth had reached that point in the conversation, and was honest.

"Mr. Darcy has a lead, but we have yet to discuss it, we were planning on discussing it after breakfast."

Understanding reached Charlottes eyes. "I see." She said, her eyes moving to her husband, who was not so subtly staring at the chest of a statue of a Roman goddess. "and you require a little more… privacy?"

Elizabeth's shoulders, which had been quite tense up to that point, relaxed. " Yes. Though Mr. Collins seems intent on staying with the party."

"Well, luckily the rooms were made quite large here at Pemberley." Charlotte smiled, patting Elizabeth's hand. "I will take care of my husband, you will have to have your conversations in low tones, but I think I can entertain him long enough."

Elizabeth took Charlottes hand in her own. "Thank you." She said, simply and sincerely.

Charlotte nodded, rising to walk across the room and join her husband, whose eyes quickly turned, looking anywhere but the statue and her smiling knowingly at him.

At that moment, one of the doors of the room started to open rather slowly. A second later the head of Fitzwilliam could be seen, then his shoulders, and finally his legs. The physician had done a fine job by all accounts, of wrenching his leg back into position. Even with the medicine they had given him to dull the pain, it must have been extremely painful.

His stooped low, as his back had apparently reinjured in the explosion, making it very difficult for him to walk upright, or at all, and given all the medicine they had given him to make him sleep, she had no idea how he was up and about.

Slowly, and with great help from a crutch, he hopped into the room. Everyone seemed to be stunned, except for Anne, who offered him her seat closest the door.

He declined with a shake of the head, instead moving to the couch nearest to were Mr. Darcy now sat.

"I told you to wake me when it was time." he said to Darcy in a low voice, sitting down with a thump.

Darcy looked at him with great worry, but said nothing, instead turning his attention to Elizabeth who after her conversation with Charlotte had sat down to his left.

And so they all now sat, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy on a couch in the middle, Anne and her servant on a couch to the right, and Fitzwilliam on the couch to the left. Holmes had stood and come around to Fitzwilliam's left shoulder, whispering something into his ear to the shake of Fitzwilliam's head. Instead of reseating himself, he stood as if at attention at his commander's side.

Elizabeth looked past Mr. Darcy to were Charlotte and Mr. Collins now stood, flipping through a book of some kind.

"I have asked Charlotte to occupy his mind. We shall be fine if we but keep our voices low." She whispered to Mr. Darcy.

Darcy just smiled and shook his head, as if at a private joke. Then turned to the group. "Are we all settled?"

The women said they were. The redcoats nodded in unison.

"Very well." Darcy said, rising from his seat to address the group. "We have much to discuss." He looked over at a servant who was standing at the door that Fitzwilliam had left open. The man shut it immediately, and they could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall as he walked away, giving them complete privacy.

"There are a total of four events that have brought us all together today. Firstly, my looking into my father's history and the subsequent approach of a government agent that it led to." Anne and Lilith expressions of surprise confirmed they had heard nothing of this yet.

"The second, is the spy that was in Colonel Fitzwilliam's camp and his attempts at sabotage. The third, is Anne and her servants flight from Lady Catherine's and what led to it, and lastly… the intruder who attempted to kill them last night."

The tension hung heavy across the room.

"We will cover all of these tonight, but before we broach them each in turn, we must know a little history." He exhaled. This seemed to be the moment he had been building to, and it was his next words surprised everybody.

"Mr. Collins," He said across the room. "We are in need of a history lesson."

"Fantastic!" Mr. Collins, said. Tossing his book aside, and scurrying across the room to stand next to Mr. Darcy.

"What do you wish? The splitting of the Orthodox church? The first Christian mission to Japan? Oh! The history of Rosings?!"

"The History of Rosings please." Mr. Darcy said.

Mr. Collins scanned the room, looking at each person individually.

"Are you sure Mr. Darcy?" he asked tentatively.

"I am." Mr. Darcy said, taking a seat.

Mr. Collins looked to Charlotte, some understanding seemed to pass between them. "Very well."

This struck Elizabeth as quite odd for Mr. Collins, who would usually talk all day about Rosings, whether you liked it or not, and then in the next moment…everything that Elizabeth had ever known about Mr. Collins changed.

His posture seemed to immediately change. Shoulders that were always back, and rigid, relaxed. Legs that were usually stiff and clumsy bowed into a more natural position. He ran his hand across his usually greasy hair, which seemed to remove much of the substance, leaving it looking fuller and more natural, and finally, the stodgy face that was usually so full of judgement and smugness lost all its condescension.

"What I am to share with you today cannot leave this room." He said, his voice seemed an octave lower, and his pronunciations lacking the usual self-indulgent ring he usual tried to bestow them with. "I share it out of trust for Mr. Darcy's approval of all of your characters, and necessity for the short amount of time we have." He cleared his throat politely.

"I am the government agent of whom Mr. Darcy has told you some of you about, and I have been investigating Lady Catherine De Burgh for years."

All eyes were on him, and several mouths hung agape

Fitzwilliam was the first to recover. "What does your investigation have to do with Darcy's father, or the spy in my camp, or Anne, or the intruder, or any of it?!"

"We shall all soon see, but if I am right Colonel. It has everything to do with it."

OoOoO

Phew!

Next chapter will be a big one I don't think I have to say. I'll get to work on it! Really excited for the next chapter's reveals.

Oh, side note, I haven't had any beta testers for this whole story but could use a few. Send me a message if you're interested!


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